Twelfth Night
by Mary Ruth Keller
Summary: On the eve of the election, Mulder and Scully are handed a case about vanishing homeless to keep them out of an investigation about missing artworks. There's unrest among the younger members of the Consortium. Senator Matheson works to move Mulder and Scully out of the basement, but one of the homeless the X-team meets may know about more than just how to keep warm on the streets
1. Harvest

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Note to the reader: The stories listed as authored by Mary Ruth Keller are all in a single universe, the Kuxan Sum Cycle. While each is an investigation that stands alone, they should be read in the following order for the plot and character developments to make the most sense.

**The Caroline Lowenberg Trilogy**

_Sins of the Fathers  
__Xibalba  
__Twelfth Night  
_Saytr Play: _Rustic Suite_

**The Dana Scully Trilogy**

Prologue: _Time Out of Joint  
__Passages in Memory  
_Interlude: _Roman de la Pendrell  
__Archaea  
__Zurvan  
_Saytr Play: _Anath_

**The Sandra Ann Miller Trilogy**

_Chermera_

More following...

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_Twelfth Night _by Mary Ruth Keller

Part I - _Harvest_

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Office Building  
Manhattan Island  
Tuesday, October 29, 1996  
10:03 am

"Gentlemen, we need to discuss two continuing challenges that confront the Organization." The white-haired man, elegant in his tailored suit, rapped the walnut armrest of the delicate Shaker original chair in which he sat. The other men in his spacious office were as composed as himself, so the idle chatter and ringing of cup against saucer ceased.

The group turned to focus on a sallow-faced, overweight colleague, whom they knew would launch the first question in his dry monotone. "You speak of Mulder and Scully and their continued probes into our work?"

The white-haired man steepled his smooth fingers, nodding in response. "It seems, gentlemen, that our young adversaries have become inseparable again." He dropped his hands into his lap. "And, being of some intelligence, they have chosen to comport themselves as professionals, and not evolve to, let us say, a different plane?"

"Your assassin failed in his attempt in Mexico?"

"Sadly, yes. Additionally, we have been placed in check by certain Representatives of the People, for the present." He rose. "But, our hands are not tied, as long as our weapons are purely intimidation, until we deal with the Other Matter."

The white-haired Italian representative sipped espresso from a blue and white Delft demitasse cup. "So we should not consider a more permanent solution?"

While turning to face away from the morning sun, the elegant man shook his head. "Until we sort out the Mexican office, no. But, as I've said, intimidation remains a vital tool. Considering the difficulty Mulder has regarding threats to his partner, I say, let us use that fact for our own ends?"

The sallow-faced man checked the eyes of the group before he spoke. "Another abduction?"

"Nothing so obvious is required, since he is already unsettled from his Mother's near brush with death."

The Italian was startled. "Caroline Mulder is alive? I thought you instructed our Washington operative to terminate her?"

The elegant man sighed. "I did, and that is the second challenge I wish to address. But first, let me propose that we begin issuing subtle reminders to Scully that she is no longer an observer or subject, but a full participant in these events as they transpire. She believes herself to be secure, but we should remind her that once she enters this sphere, there is no safe harbor, either for herself, or her family."

He turned to one of the younger men who flanked the door, then waved his hand. The junior members of the Consortium, the silent associates in the corners, filed out of the room.

Facing the rest, he settled back into his armchair. "There, gentlemen, the plan is in motion. Now, to the problem of our old colleague."

"Shouldn't he be here for this? He has never failed us before." The accent was heavy and Germanic, the deep growl issuing from a balding figure in one of the dark green armchairs.

"Oh, he will be joining us shortly. You see, gentlemen, I had always suspected, but never really known, the depth of his connection to Bill and Caroline Mulder. I'm afraid he has let his ties to the dead overwhelm his usually excellent judgment and planning." They heard the outer door latch click, the slight brush of leather soles across the Berber carpets. "Ah, here he is now. That unmistakable aroma precedes him."

A grey-suited figure entered, his eyes wary. When he saw the assembled group, he nervously puffed his cigarette. "I'm here. What was it you wished to speak with me about?" He ignored the wave of an arm towards an empty chair, remaining, instead, firmly on his feet.

"Why didn't you complete your mission in Chilmark, as you were asked?"

The man took a step backwards, reaching for the door knob. "I most certainly *did* complete it. I stood on the hillside overlooking the house and watched it burn to the ground. What is this? A joke?"

The sallow-faced man advanced. "We would never joke about the near-death of a former colleague. Why did you wait long enough for her to escape out the back?"

He nearly dropped the Morley in fright and confusion. "But I saw her in the window, just moments before the explosion! I killed her, I tell you! Nothing could have survived."

The elegant man shifted in his seat. "So it was a ghost who penned a letter to Margaret Scully?" The white head moved from side to side. "No, old friend, you must face up to your failure, even though it appears to have been inadvertent."

The German leaned forward. "She had help, you know." The eyes in the room turned to him. "The rest of the letter is most revealing. It seems she has enlisted the aid of a man who should be familiar to all of us, Max Lowenberg."

As the heads around the room dipped and bobbed, the elegant fingers waved. "Well known, indeed. Where are they at the present?"

The German wiped his fingers on a linen napkin he had been holding throughout the conversation. "They are in Europe, in Paris, to be precise. We are having them followed as we speak. Should they attempt to make contact we will be alerted immediately."

The cigarette waved. "Then I am free to go? This matter appears to be under control."

The balding German shook his head. "Not at all, we have another problem we need you to solve. We hope you will have greater success with this assignment. Take a seat, so we can explain it."

-o-0-o-

Flat #2  
Walford, London  
Tuesday, 7:30 pm

Inspector Phoebe Green dropped her case on the secretary to the left of the door inside her tiny flat. The walnut desk and a decrepit sofa pulled to the center of the floor were the only pieces of furniture in the front chamber of her four room flat. The remaining walls supported stacks of canvases, some bare, some half finished, with a very few, framed and ready for sale. She stepped out of her soggy pumps, balanced each shoe on the radiator to dry, then smiled at the dark head that appeared in the doorway. _He never notices the paint on his face anymore._

"Hum, Eau du Green. Thought it wasn't supposed to rain this afternoon." The artist's broad shoulders blocked the light from the studio window as he entered the front room. "Now, a hug for the detective."

She buried herself in his arms, glad to have finally broken down and moved in with this self-taught painter from Jamaica.

He kissed the top of her head. "You're home late, Luv, but I've almost finished the big canvas for the show next week. Come and have a look." He took her hand to lead her back through the doorway.

"Eric, this is wonderful!"

His impressionistic swirls suggested a bright blue summer sky above a verdant field, filled with scarlet poppies, sloping downwards to the sea.

She pointed to a blank spot in the center of the canvas. "What will you paint there?"

He tapped a photo from their short trip to Crete the previous August, showing the two of them, laughing. "Just you and me, Sweet. I've decided to title the picture 'Artist and Muse'. It's not very original, but I don't want to hear from some critic that-" He struck a serious pose as he dropped his voice into solemnity. "-Eric Conners has no training in the Great Masters. I'll finish it tomorrow. Right now, I need to work some magic with you." As they kissed, he felt her sigh. "What's wrong, Luv? Are you tired of me already?"

She held him tighter. "No, never, Eric. You're just as wonderful as that day we were on Holiday, but I have to go to America next week, and I'm not looking forward to it."

He left one arm around her shoulder as they walked back into the kitchen. "You'll be here Sunday, won't you?"

Phoebe nodded. "Yes, I did get them to shift the meeting until Tuesday. I wouldn't miss your show for the world."

Working quietly, they fixed a quick supper of greens and black beans, reheating some roasted chicken from the previous day's meal.

After eating and cleaning up, he cuddled her again as they sat on his sofa. "Now, Phoebe, tell me what's been bothering you, if you can. All that hush-hush stuff starting to wear my girl down?"

She focused on the dark hand that dwarfed her pale one, resting one on top of the other on his thigh. _He'll have to know eventually._ "No, I'm going to Washington, to visit the FBI."

He kissed her ear. "Will *he* be there?"

Phoebe nodded. "It's *him* I have to talk to. I've been assigned to follow a Max Lowenberg, who happens to be *his* stepfather, and I want some background before I get started. Now, you aren't hearing any of this, but this Lowenberg guy has started asking questions about things he should keep his nose out of. I didn't want this assignment, Eric. If I never see Special Agents Fox Mulder or Dana Scully again as long as I live, that'll be fine with me." She turned to him, trailing a finger along his jaw. "Now, about that magic..."

-o-0-o-

14th Street Homeless Shelter  
Northwest Washington, DC  
Wednesday, October 30, 1996  
6:30 pm

Johnny hopped first on his left foot, then his right, as he waited with his tray. He looked no different from any of the other homeless men standing in line, his hair caked with dirt to hide his pale curls. Shaving wasn't necessary most of the time, since the hair on his face was too light to be noticed. But, he knew from his years on the street what happened to thin blond boys who were too pretty, so he had also scuffed up his chin to look scarred.

_The word on Charles Street was right._ Eats were better in DC than his native Baltimore. As he had most of the past month, he would have one dinner here tonight, then tomorrow he could slip across the street to have another at the Methodist Church. Friday he would hitchhike back north, since he needed to get to the clinic to pick up his new medicine. It had made the voices go away, so for the first time in his short life, he wasn't hearing in his head about the angry Lady in the woods at Christmas.

When he was six he had asked his Aunt Sarah about Christmas, she had laughed, then told him about orbits and solstices. He liked his old Aunt Sarah, the astronomer, but she was dead. She used to sneak him into the observatory late at night to show him the Crab Nebula, or if they were really lucky, a comet. Ancient when he came to live with her at the age of three, after his parents' death, Aunt Sarah had died when he was fifteen. Johnny had been shuttled through six foster homes in eighteen months, then, after awful Mister Johnston's house, he ran away.

But the voices had always been with him, until he found the clinic. He was sorry the voices were gone, but he was glad, too. The voices had kept him company in the foster homes, telling him stories that were better than Aunt Sarah's, about kings and trees. He needed to hear those tales in Mister Johnston's house, since they helped him forget the crying and the screaming. But they also told him Christmas would never happen, unless he believed. They never said what he had to believe, just that if he did, everything would be all right, but if he didn't, someone would have to be sacrificed. So, every Halloween, he would solemnly promise to believe, there would be a Christmas, without any sacrifices.

If he took his medicine, the voices wouldn't ask this time, and he wouldn't promise, since he knew his Aunt Sarah was right. Christmas was just a day six days before New Year's Eve. Winter and Summer were just the earth tilting back and forth on its axis, relative to the ecliptic. He'd always liked the way she said 'ecliptic'...

"You want some food, man? Hold out your tray."

He stared at the grayish mass oozing over his tray. _Glop. That's all I get?_ He could have eaten glop in Baltimore. Well, at least at this shelter he could take a shower and pick out some clean clothes. Maybe if he begged enough tomorrow, he could take the train back on Friday and not hitchhike. People were always softies around the holidays, especially with the Election coming up. It was a time unlike most in DC, where men in grey suits and power ties usually would run into you while you were sitting down, then yell at you to get out of their way. The women, too, now that he thought about it, were just as bad. _You'd think the country would fall apart if they didn't make their meeting or something._ Johnny sniffed as he took his tray to a long table by himself. _Huh, not too shabby for glop. And a shower and clean clothes, too. Not a bad year's end, at all._

-o-0-o-

J. Edgar Hoover Building  
Thursday, October 31, 1996  
9:15 am

Fox Mulder sat up a little straighter as he heard the latch sliding in the door of the basement office he shared with Dana Scully. _What a day for bad news, G-man._ Fortunately, as he could tell by the quick, precise steps he had heard, it was his partner, not some prankster from VC on the other side.

"Morning, Mulder. Mister Fuzz passed Doctor Schutt's exam with flying colors. No heartworms, ear mites, or fleas. Anything good come down from above?"

He silently watched her slip out of her long grey overcoat. _You're here, Scully. Good enough for me._

She dropped her briefcase by her desk, placed a white paper bag on the pile of documents haphazardly stacked in front of him, then grinned. "Happy Halloween, partner."

Unrolling the top of the bag, he grinned back at her as she leaned against her desk, arms crossed. "Only one, Scully? But I thought this was for me?" He lifted out the frosted pumpkin doughnut and waved it under her nose before taking a huge bite.

Shaking her head, she grimaced at the thought of all the fat and sugar he was pumping into his system. _Massive coronary at forty, Dana, just watch._

The confection finished, he held out a folder. "Sorry to ruin your morning, but this is all we have."

She took the sheaf of paper and sat, silently turning the sheets in the folder over. _For someone who ran as obsessively as he did, that doughnut would probably be burned off in the next hour._ Her eyes traced the name of their imminent visitor, once, then again. "Oh."

Mulder watched her face darken. _She's seen the name._

She frowned over at him. "She's coming again?"

The tall agent nodded, suddenly serious. "I don't think you have to be psychic to know I'm not looking forward to this. After last time..." He rose from the chair to stare out the window behind her desk.

Scully crossed her arms. "But why Phoebe? If there was some problem with Max and your Mom, wouldn't any Inspector do? I thought you told me she never met her?"

He began pacing the length of the filing cabinets in the forward part of the office.

Shoving the folder angrily across her tiny desk, she moved around the oak box to block his path. "Do you think she's taking orders from Her Majesty's Government, or from some stalking Shadow?"

Mulder shook his head. "I can't say. I wish I knew where Max and my Mom were now." He leaned over her desk, flipped her laptop open, then typed at the c:\ prompt. As one hand moved over the keys, he tilted the screen forward to hide his words.

Scully crouched behind the desk, reading as the clicks sounded in the silent room: "Your mother has a letter."

Mulder straightened as she powered off the computer and they locked eyes. _We'll visit her this weekend._

"Agent Mulder, Agent Scully?" It was Gloria, Skinner's assistant, standing in the doorway. As Scully turned, she saw a black-striped X-File folder in the hand of the slightly stooped, grey haired woman, who coughed, nearly inaudibly, once. "Director Skinner had to go over to the Capitol for the Sub-Committee hearings, but he wanted you two to have this ASAP."

Mulder walked to the entrance, accepted the papers with a slight smile, then waited until he heard the elevator doors close.

As an Election-eve tactic, the Republican-controlled Senate was "reviewing" the past four years of Janet Reno's FBI, and the Drug Scandal had risen to confront them again. Walter Skinner was using his newly acquired influence to shield the X-Files from the Media, for which the partners were grateful. They had spent too much time in the limelight these past months.

Mulder flipped open the folder as he walked back to his desk, Scully watching him intently. He stopped by her side and turned to face her, a questioning crease in his brow.

She was holding the white paper bag open and out in front of him. Written on the inside bottom of the bag were the characters: Q to QB4.

He raised his eyes to meet hers. _No shots for the dog, this morning, partner?_

The letters were a code that told him Scully had moved the notebook with the documentation of the silver cylinder to a new location.

Pensive, Mulder rested his hand on her shoulder. This elaborate game of cat and mouse between themselves and the Shadows was wearing on both of them, but she was the one with family that could still be touched. If his mother was safe in Europe with Max, then all they could take away from him was...Scully. After their discussion by the Tidal Basin earlier in the week, he knew how completely her loss would devastate him.

Still deep in thought, Mulder dropped into the creaking chair behind his desk. Perhaps that was why they spent so much time together anymore. He knew she was afraid he would be lured into a trap by some crazy story about abductees with recovered memories. He was afraid for her, period. If Scully had been taken once before without either of them being aware of it, she could be spirited off at any time.

Scully crossed the room, touching his arm to focus him back with her. "Mulder? What does Skinner want?"

Having read enough, he passed the file to her.

She studied his eyes as she accepted the creased manila folder. _Quicksilver, Mulder. I'll never understand how your mind processes data so fast._

Mulder grunted his frustration. "He's found a 'safe' case for us to work on, one that will keep us out of the spotlight until after the elections."

Scully leaned back in her chair, reading about the mysterious disappearances of homeless in shelters from Norfolk to Boston. Just a few in July, but in the summer, the homeless didn't need the shelters as much then as they would later on in the year. She toted up the numbers. In August, three men missing from their beds in Baltimore. In September, five in Philadelphia, six in Baltimore, and ten here in DC.

Her eyes widened as she reviewed the count for October. "Mulder, this is terrible! Most of these people are barely able to function in society, so we throw them away, and assuage our consciences by casting a few coins in their direction on the street." She eyed him as he sat slumped in his chair, idly pushing his mouse around. "I know it doesn't look promising, but we should check this out."

He shook his head, running his fingers through his short brown hair. "If you think our usual X-Files are bad, wait until we get into this. No one will see or know anything, except for a few witnesses who can't distinguish fact from fantasy. We'll chase ephemeral clues up and down the East Coast, and in the end, may, *may*, find a body or two stuffed in a dumpster." He growled his frustration, then began pacing by the filing cabinets again.

Scully ran a finger down the list of homeless shelters involved. "Mulder, let's at least talk to some of the employees of the shelters here in DC, before we start running all over the country. Most of the cases seem to concentrate on this area, anyway."

Mulder, who was slouched, arms crossed, his back against the filing cabinets, looked over at his partner. "Yeah, well, it's not like we have much else to do. So, where to first, Scully?"

She lifted a map of the District out of her top right-hand drawer, and with a practiced flip of the wrist, unfolded the paper. Mulder walked back to stand behind her, watching her plot out a route through the downtown area that kept them from running afoul of all the one-way streets and variable lanes during rush hour.

She glanced up at him warily. "Oh, and we'll need to stop by Doctor Anderson's office at 3:30." She arched one eyebrow. "I missed my six months check-up when we were in Mexico, and this was the first open date. After major surgery, it's..."

Mulder reached for her longcoat. "No problem, Scully. You're more important, anyway. So, ready?"

After a nod, she lifted her briefcase off the desk as she rose.

-o-0-o-

14th Street Homeless Shelter  
Northwest Washington, DC  
Thursday, 12:30 pm

The agents followed a small man in frayed jeans and a black T-shirt into a dingy office. Given his heavy Spanish accent, Scully guessed he had recently arrived from Central America. After her time with the Maya, she was more conscious of the mixed heritage that the Hispanic population of DC shared.

By mutual agreement, Scully was leading off the questions, with Mulder observing the 'clientele', backing her up if necessary. "So, Mister Allen, there were no witnesses to the disappearances on the night of October Fifth?"

Allen shook his head, gesturing to two folding chairs in front of his desk. Scully took the one on the right, but, after a grimace at the rusty frame, Mulder opted to lean against the wall instead.

Allen scratched his jet-black mustache. "No, a small church-run shelter like ourselves can't afford the staff that the CCNV can. Many of the homeless consider any monitoring of their actions spying. We just track the bodies coming in and going out for meals planning. It was suspicious to find those three cots empty, with the belongings under them, all untouched."

The pathologist nodded. "Yes, thievery is rampant, or so I've been told. Did any of the occupants of the surrounding cots say anything to you about the disappearances, anything at all?"

Rick Allen frowned. "Just things that made no sense. We asked and got either blank stares, or that they wouldn't touch the possessions of someone who'd been 'taken', as one put it, since 'they' wouldn't be pleased when 'they' got back." He shrugged, but the agents exchanged a glance.

Mulder stepped forward, suddenly interested. "We've heard that before today. Are any of these people around, or is there a corner we could visit them at?"

"No, not yet, Agent Mulder. It's not cold enough for them to need to band together at night. The population is so transient that until the first real cold snap, we won't see them come out of the parks and settle on the steam grates."

Raising an eyebrow, Scully tipped her head up. "Mulder, may I have a word?"

He offered a single nod.

The agents excused themselves, slipping out of the cramped office. They found a quiet table in the corner, then, after the tall agent checked the seat for a second, they put their heads together, consulting.

Mulder touched his partner's hand. "Are you beginning to see a pattern, in all this?" He wanted to test the strength of their so recently threatened working bond.

She pursed her lips, then glanced over at a Hispanic woman with three small children at the closest table before replying. "All men, between the ages of 15 and 35, all white. Like test samples of some kind. Most homeless are non-white and non-male, like that poor family there. But why? And who?"

"We can only guess. I would speculate that it's our friends in the Shadows, needing test subjects for their experiments, like Klemper used the..." He paused, his face coloring slightly, as the implication of his words took on a meaning too close to his own life.

His partner spoke quickly, attempting to keep him focused on the present, not the past. "Yes, I think you may be right. And it would be an older Scientist, whether you realize it or not."

He lifted an eyebrow at her. "What makes you say that?"

"Younger researchers understand the importance of a broad data base for study. Older researchers tend to choose only uniform test subjects, thinking age and hormonal differences would skew their results."

Mulder studied the small family, noticing the dirty clothing and runny noses. _The children in the village were so much healthier._ "Or whatever it is they are testing only involves men."

Scully tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, considering. "Who are the most likely pool for soldiers?"

Mulder nodded, then rose. "Let's have some lunch, then check out the shelter on Thomas Circle. I don't think Skinner knew what he was doing when he handed us this case, Scully."

She slipped off the bench, heading back to the office to drop off a card with Allen on the way out. "Worse yet, Mulder, maybe he did."

-o-0-o-

Johnny noticed the well-dressed couple leaving the shelter and held out his hand towards the man. "Spare a dollar?"

The tall man glanced down at the auburn-haired woman, questioning. A quick dip of the head, then the trench-coated man was fumbling in his pocket. The paper he held out bore Lincoln's portrait, not Washington's.

Johnny was suitably effusive in his thanks. As he watched the man open the car door for the woman, he congratulated himself on his powers of observation. _Works every time. Guys always want to impress their ladies. Now I can ride the train to Baltimore._

-o-0-o-

Affiliated Doctor's Offices  
Arlington, VA  
Thursday, 4:05 pm

"Well, Dana, you seem to be healing normally, and although your ovaries aren't functioning, you shouldn't need further surgery. Your program of exercise and diet seems to be working as well, so we won't be starting you on estrogen anytime soon. No more pains?"

Scully, now dressed and comfortable after the exam, was sitting across from Doctor Anderson in his private space behind the enclosed rooms. "No, Dale, no pains." She herself, being a physician, refused to slip into the doctor/patient mode of title-last name/first name. "And the tests?"

"We'll know in three days. Why are you so concerned with cancer, if I may ask?"

Wondering how much he should know, she chewed her lip. "I've been reading and interviewing women who have been through what I've endured, and I just want to be sure, that's all."

Doctor Anderson walked around to the front of his desk to half-sit on it. "Dana, there are some parts of your life you don't tell me about, and given your position with the FBI, I understand. But, I am your physician, and I would like to caution you."

Straightening, Scully focused on the salt and pepper mustache, which was significantly greyer than the full head of hair. _Here it comes._

"I know you and your partner are close." The tall physician waited for some reaction, but when there was none, continued. "The nurses told me who stayed with you in the hospital this March, and it wasn't your Mother. I know he's waiting for you outside as well. But should you wish ..."

Scully huffed silently. _So *that* was what he was worried about._ "No, Dale, it's not like that at all." She uncrossed and recrossed her legs. "Mulder and I don't feel that way about each other. We just have to stick together for, for our own protection more than anything else." She rested both feet on the floor, then rose to terminate the conversation. "I can't go into details with you, it's not safe, for you or me. But let me just tell you this. When I missed my appointment because I was in Chiapas?"

Catching the shift, he smiled. "How can I forget, Dana. It's not every day Christiane Amanpour interviews one of my patients. You were quite the star around the office."

"Well, Dale, and this is all I can say: We had narrowly escaped an assassin not three days earlier."

He crossed his arms, digesting this new information. "Okay. Just be careful." He opened the door for her. "And try not to miss the next one, or at least have a good excuse that doesn't involve the Media, all right?"

She nodded, turning up one corner of her mouth as she walked past him. _That's over, now, back to work._

-o-0-o-

When Scully reentered the waiting area, her partner, studiously ignoring the three women watching him, was typing furiously on her laptop. She smiled as she observed the grandmother, mother, and daughter, noting the obvious support the elder and the girl were providing the middle-aged woman's late-life pregnancy. _Poor Mulder, this must bother him. Maybe a quiet dinner will make it up._

Glancing over at the door, he was relieved that it was she, so saved the file before closing the screen. "Ready?" He slid the computer in her carrying case and rose, holding open her coat.

She slipped into the sleeves before following him out the door. "Sorry, Mulder. At least I didn't have to wait."

He opened the car door for her, then walked around to the driver's side. Once he had negotiated out of the parking space, he turned to Scully. "You okay?"

She smiled. "Yes, I am. My tests are all perfectly normal for a woman at this stage of recovery. Oh, Doctor Anderson remembers our television debut. So, shall we try the two shelters in Northeast before we call it quits for the day?"

He shrugged his assent. "Tell me how to get there, Scully."

-o-0-o-

Edgardo's Trattoria  
Alexandria, VA  
Thursday, 7:30 pm

"If this place is so good, why is it empty?" Mulder opened the outer glass door for his partner, then guided her in with his hand on the small of her back.

Scully opened the inner door, then held it until he passed through. She inhaled deeply, listening to the pops from the wood-fired oven. Even in the artificial light, the white tiled walls and mirrors gave the small restaurant a summery feel, and the small tables and booths were inviting. "Just smell, Mulder."

The aroma of wood smoke mixed with garlic sizzling on the grill in the back. Open bins of peppers, squash, sweet onions, and brightly colored prints on cans of olive oil overhead only enhanced the connections to Mediterranean climes.

He leaned over her shoulder. "If you wanted bonfires, Scully, I could have taken you out into the woods. I do have friends who celebrate Halloween properly, you know."

_I'll bet you do, Mulder._ She leaned backward slightly as the waiter approached. "I'll pass on the orgy this year, partner."

He grinned, then straightened as the outer door opened.

The woman behind him called out a light-hearted greeting. "Dana, see, I'm not late."

Mulder turned at the voice to admire the shapely blonde rakishly. "Good to see you, Sue. Scully here isn't interested in a real harvest celebration. Care to join me at midnight?"

Sue rolled her eyes before focusing on the diminutive pathologist in the dark trench coat. Doctor Susan Miles was a classmate of Scully's from Medical School, working presently at the Johns Hopkins Hospital. "You're right, he is incorrigible. Hello, Mulder, you *know* I have to drive back to Baltimore tonight."

The three followed the waiter to a booth across from the opening to the oven, the partners facing Susan Miles across the table.

After ordering, Scully turned to her friend. "Well, Sue, how do the animal tests look?"

Doctor Miles sipped her Calistoga water before replying. "Good, Dana. That extract contained several new compounds with antibiotic properties. It's difficult to isolate from the dried leaves Doctor Samuelson brought back from Chiapas, but your samples of the herbal tea were all we needed to get started. The chemical structures are easily synthesized, which is also rare with many of these tropical drugs."

Mulder studied the faces of both women. "So, the witch doctors were onto something?"

Growling, Scully elbowed him lightly. "They're not witch doctors, Mulder. The women in the mountains have been testing those herbal remedies for generations. Most ethnobotanists are men, and they only talk to the male shamans, but women have to keep families going, so they have developed their own treatments. I was fortunate that they trusted me enough to let me in on their secrets."

Susan leaned over the table. "And because they did, we may have three new drugs to combat post-surgical infections, *so* *there*, Mister Halloween."

Mulder smiled at the intensity on the faces of the two doctors. Once his partner had an idea, her tenacity rivaled his own. _Just one more thing I like about you, Scully._ He could see the storm gathering on the brow of the red-haired woman.

Scully leaned forward. "Yes, Mulder, Western Medicine was wrong to drive the herbal practitioners into quackery, rather than test their medicines for utility. Part of the reason we have to turn to tropical areas for new ideas is that the Church burned all the European Herbalists as witches, okay?"

He raised an eyebrow, wondering how much further he could tweak his dinner companions before one or both of them decked him.

But Susan turned to her friend first. "Dana, he's just goading us, you know. If we ignore him, maybe he'll play nice."

The women grinned, then launched into a long technical discussion of the anti-hallucinogens Susan was testing, pausing to elaborate the organic chemistry parts, drawing diagrams on the paper placemats as they waited. Occasionally, Scully glanced at her bewildered partner; eventually, they both looked at him and smirked.

Susan pushed her blonde curls off her cheek. "Think we should stop now, Dana?"

Scully cocked her head. _Truce?_

Mulder's eyebrows were drawn together in a tight frown. _Truce, Scully._

Susan caught the silent interchange. "Sure looks like he's learned his lesson. Besides, I think dinner's here."

The rest of the meal passed in companionable, and considerably lighter, conversation about the upcoming elections. Clinton was favored to win a landslide victory over Dole, but there was always the odd third party candidate to consider.

Mulder, a dissident to the last, was holding out for the Libertarians to stage a come from behind victory. "Think of the possibilities, Scully. No Big Brother watching us."

She wrinkled her nose before responding. "No Big Brother, then no FBI, and no X-Files."

Susan shook her head. "All politics is local, even here in the heart of the Federal Government."

-o-0-o-

Their meal concluded, Mulder leaned across the table. "Well, Scully, we still have a few hours. All the fun starts at midnight, you know."

Doctor Miles had excused herself after leaving her share of the cost a few minutes earlier.

Scully lifted one corner of her mouth, wondering what Mulder would do if she ever called her partner's bluff. "No, Mulder, that's when all souls should be praying to the Saints in church. But I have a little friend who's probably crossing his legs by now." She figured the rest of the three-way split, then dropped a few dollars on the table as Mulder mumbled and slid out of the booth.

He pulled on his trench coat, then held hers out, grasping her shoulders after she had slipped in. "You're really okay, aren't you?"

Scully swiveled around, noting the fear in his hazel eyes. "Yes, I am. You know I want to stay off estrogen to keep my breast cancer risk down."

He nodded, since this had been the subject of several discussions during her recovery.

She buttoned her coat. "My bone mass is good. I've had no menopausal symptoms of any consequence, so the low-fat diet and exercise seems to be working well. Unfortunately, the only one you'll be able to share your sausage and pepperoni with is Red Boy." She took his arm. "Thanks for being such a worry-wart, it saves the wear and tear on my Mom."

He flashed her a quick grin as they left, bracing themselves against the chilly air.

-o-0-o-

The agents had managed to find adjacent parking spaces, and were outside their vehicles, Mulder leaning over the roof of his car, watching her. "Let me follow you home, Scully."

She backed up to face him, surprised at his concern. "If you want, Mulder." She tipped her head, then slid behind the wheel, reaching for the ignition. Outside of his usual harmless flirting and jokes, her partner had been deeply courteous since Monday, when they had finally discussed her problems. _I never knew you took our arguments so seriously. Chaos, Godel's Theorem, and Heisenberg. Where do you find the time?_ She *really* had to check on his sleeping habits. Scully followed him out of the lot, then settled back for the trip home.

-o-0-o-

Near the Ellipse  
Thursday, 9:15 pm

Johnny wiggled down between two stout exposed roots of one of the oaks. A slight breeze stirred the deepening piles of browning leaves around the trunks of the tall trees. _One night at a shelter was enough._ The clean clothes in his bag and a quick scrub of his face would get him on the MARC train at Union Station tomorrow, no questions asked. But for tonight, he would sleep under the stars to enjoy the outdoors, while the weather still held.

As he was drowsing, he jerked back to full alertness. _There are no deer in downtown DC._ Rock Creek Park, yes, but that lovely buck with his glorious antlers couldn't go unnoticed for long. Something spooked the animal, so it began springing further away. Two huge silent hounds, white with red ears, were stalking it. _No, the medicine is supposed to keep you away!_ He shook his head, then looked again. It was only a man, dressed in brown wraps like himself, slipping noiselessly through the shrubbery, looking for a comfortable place for the night.

-o-0-o-

Apartment Complex  
Alexandria, VA  
Thursday, 9:30 pm

Scully pulled up behind the police car, the lights from the overhead bar illuminating yellow caution tape stretched over the door to her building.

She stepped up to the two officers and held up her FBI ID. "Agent Scully. What happened?"

Lieutenant Ed Perkins, middle aged, balding and heavyset, answered, "Break-in of Apartment 5."

She glanced at Mulder, who was just walking up to her. Any extra parking was occupied by the emergency vehicles, so he had found a spot up the street.

Perkins nodded to the agent before facing Scully again. "You have any idea who lives there?"

The partners separately considered the implications of this new wrinkle before Scully held up her badge. "I do." She began to lift the police tape. "How bad is it?"

The officer followed her, then raised an eyebrow at Mulder, who had stopped behind him to extract and display his official ID as well.

Scully pointed with her head over her shoulder. "He's my partner at the Bureau. We were out pursuing leads from several cases."

"Long day." Perkins nodded sympathetically at the agents, then the three proceeded inside.

The Lieutenant walked on Scully's left. "It's not good. The place is pretty well ransacked. I'm glad you're home. We wouldn't know where to begin, outside of trying to lift prints. The landlord is out, and none of the neighbors saw anything." When Mulder snorted, the officer eyed him over Scully's head. "You aren't keeping any case files in your apartment, are you, Agent Scully?"

"No, Lieutenant Perkins, just personal items. I bring official materials home only for immediate work, and they never leave my possession." Scully passed through the open front door, then blanched at the shambles that was once her tidy apartment.

She pulled a pair of latex gloves out of her briefcase before stepping over the mess into the bedroom, concerned about checking her valuables and the photographs of herself and her family. What few pieces of jewelry she owned were strewn over the dresser, but none were missing. The photos, however, had all been systematically defaced. Sinking onto the bed, she held a broken frame and the glossy image of Melissa and herself at her graduation, now torn almost in two.

"Scully?" Her partner's tall body blocked the lights from the police cameras as various flashes documented the carnage for the record.

She looked up, chewing her lip, then turned the paper over so he could see the damage.

He winced. "They went for destruction of personal items in the living room, too."

"All my photos and keepsakes?"

As a whimper emanated from under the bed, he dropped to his hands and knees. "Yeah, whoever they were, they weren't looking for money or electronics."

She laid the photo back on the dresser, then crouched, throwing back the spread. "Sweet Face, is that you?" She reached under to pull out a quivering mass of blond fur. The Pomeranian's round brown eyes fixed on hers as she sat back on the bed to cuddle him. "Poor thing. You were scared to death. But at least you're okay, right?"

Lieutenant Perkins stepped in, observing Scully checking his teeth and fur. "Oh, no. He was under the bed?"

After a nod, she continued her examination, stopping when the dog yipped as she massaged the left front paw.

Perkins took a step further into the bedroom. "I'm sorry, Agent Scully..."

Mulder positioned himself between them. "Is this really necessary?"

Surprised, Scully looked over. _The prospect of my leaving must have bothered him even more than he's let on._ "It's all right, Mulder." She tucked the dog under her arm so she could hold him as she continued checking the bedroom. Her clothing was strewn on the floor, the monitor for her PC was on its side, but none of the disks were disturbed.

Mulder took a step towards his partner, then grasped the clothing rack at the foot of her bed to keep from hovering.

Lieutenant Perkins cleared his throat, calling the agents' focus to him. "Agent Scully, is anything of value missing back here?"

She shook her head.

"Would you mind taking a look at the rest of the apartment?"

She left the bedroom, deep in thought. Mulder touched her back as she passed him, offering silent sympathy in exchange for a slight upturn of the left corner of her mouth.

-o-0-o-

Near the Ellipse  
Thursday, 10:15 pm

Johnny's hand went up, above the level of the roots. "I'll be a good boy today, Aunt Sarah. I did my homework, see?" For the second time, he jumped. _Why now?_ He thought he was twelve again, and his old Aunt Sarah was dropping him off at the Junior High. _She was right here! No, she wasn't._ Aunt Sarah was dead, really dead, and he had to get back to Baltimore tomorrow.

The wind picked up, blowing leaves in his face, making him shiver. Suddenly the shelter didn't seem like such a bad place after all.

-o-0-o-

Apartment 5  
Alexandria, VA  
Thursday, 10:55 pm

In a daze, Scully picked her way through the disaster in her living room to the kitchen, where the same purposeful pattern of destruction was evident. Her China set, an heirloom from her great-grandmother, was smashed into tiny fragments while still stacked in the cabinets. Left untouched was her everyday crockery, as were her new tumblers from Crate and Barrel, the price tags still adhering to the bases.

The sea-blue mug from Athens, that her Father had fired especially for her, with 'To Starbuck at 18' lettered in gold around the body, lay in fragments in the middle of the floor. Beside it was the pink alligator toothpick holder with 'Welcome to Beautiful Miami' in lurid violet letters on its stomach. A memento of Bill Jr.'s final midshipman's cruise, Mulder had supplied neon green toothpicks for it in a fit of whimsy. The sticks were strewn out in a fan pattern now, as if prepared for the old child's game. Almost unaware she was still clutching the dog, Scully sank down on one knee, attempting to gather up the pieces of the handled cup.

But her partner's gloved fingers were there first, knowing the significance of the fragments of porcelain. The mug was only in three pieces, one being the bottom and part of a side, one comprised of the handle and most of the rest of the cylinder, and a third a narrow curved shard. _I can repair this for her._ He wrapped the pieces in a dishtowel, then, thinking of no other safe place, stashed them in her refrigerator, which remained an island of order. Mulder felt her pain deeply, having had her help while he sifted through the charred remains of the two houses that had sheltered him through his childhood.

When he turned back to her, Scully was leaning against the kitchen table, cradling, in her free hand, the pieces of the alligator, split in two down the B. "He gave this to me because he knows I hate pink. It's the most hideous thing he could find, and he gave it to me." She looked up at him, seeing the shared sorrow in his eyes, then a glint of humor.

"Well, if you hate it so much, let me have it, Scully. It'll look good in the aquarium next to the psychedelic mermaid." He lifted the pieces out of her hand to deposit them on the counter, then circled her shoulders with his arm, pulling her into him. Lowering his face until his lips were beside her ear, he spoke in tones of soft sympathy. "It's supposed to be a warning. We shouldn't think they've rolled over and played dead just because of the medals."

Her head slipped up and down against the wool in the tweed coat, scratching her nose, her reply muffled by the front flap. "I know, Mulder. For some reason, they can't harm us physically anymore, but they plan to make our lives a living hell." Hearing noises in the doorway, she pushed herself away from him.

Lieutenant Perkins entered with a clipboard, noting the worry written on both of their faces. "Agent Scully? You know who did this, don't you?" He watched them exchange glances again, then a slow nod as the tiny woman cradled her dog. "But you can't tell me?" He raised an eyebrow, waiting for the expected negative response. "Then we can only write it up as malicious mischief."

Another shrug.

"You're sure nothing valuable was taken?"

"I'm sure, Lieutenant. Thank you for your efforts. You haven't found any fingerprints outside of mine or Agent Mulder's?"

The policeman shook his head. "We get too many of these on Halloween. Someone wants to settle an old score, and figures general hooliganism is excused. Do you want a copy of the report?"

"Yes, please. We'll keep track."

The officer waited until the rest of the evidence squad had left, then turned to them both before exiting. "When you two pulled up, I thought I remembered you, and I realized a little earlier it was from CNN. I hate to see something like this happen to one of our own and go unpunished, especially after all you did, Agent Scully. If I hear anything, I'll let you know right away." He took in both of their faces a final time. "Be careful, okay?"

They smiled at each other.

Wondering what was so funny, Perkins frowned. "What?"

Scully, still amused, offered up an explanation. "That's a very familiar statement for us. Thank you." She firmly closed the door, leaning her head against it.

Mulder took her by the arm to turn her around, then placed a hand on each shoulder. "You'll be staying with me tonight, Scully. *No* *arguments*." He could read the conflicting gratitude and independence in the set of her lips and eyebrows.

"We'll need to stop by the Vet's first, Mulder. I think Fuzzy Boy broke a bone in his paw. Here." Scully handed the Pomeranian to Mulder, then headed back to throw a few extra clothes into her pre-packed duffel bag.

Gently scratching the dog behind the ears, her partner walked into the kitchen, picked a grocery sack off the floor, and began collecting pet dishes and cans of food. _Feeding him Iams, now?_ Finished, Mulder deposited the canine and the bag on the sofa.

His partner was still in her bedroom, which sent him on a fresh round of worrying. "Scully? You ready?"

She was sitting on the bed, holding the torn picture of her sister, rocking herself.

Mulder sat beside her, sliding one hand up and down her spine. "Talk to me. Don't keep this bottled up inside." The last thing he wanted was a repeat of her silence that nearly drove her out of the X-Files and away from him.

She gritted her teeth, forcing herself to inhale and exhale until her anger and grief subsided. "I'm sorry, Mulder. This doesn't help. I just so tired of looking over my shoulder and jumping whenever we pass an alley. When will it all be over?"

-o-0-o-

Apartment 42  
Arlington, VA  
Friday, November 1, 1996  
12:30 am

Scully glared up at her partner. The trip to his place from the Vet's had been uncomfortably quiet. "Mulder, I appreciate the offer, but I really can stay in a hotel tonight. You don't have to do this."

He pushed the door open, then firmly guided her inside, his hand gripping her waist. "No, Scully, I do have to do this. If you had been at home when they trashed your place, we wouldn't be arguing in front of Mrs. Beddowes right now." Audible only in the nocturnal quiet, they heard the door across the hallway click shut. _I'd be a basket case in a hospital waiting room, or somewhere worse._ "The only way I'd let you stay in a hotel is if I'm there too."

He threw the dead bolt behind him.

Firmly rooted in his front room, Scully was facing into his living area, but unwilling to concede defeat.

He dropped his case by the door, then brought himself up behind her, waiting as close to her as he could stand without touching her. When she refused to advance, Mulder leaned against Scully's back for a moment. "This is what partners are for, remember?"

Scully's shoulders sagged, knowing he was right. "Okay, but just for tonight. I'll try to get my place in shape tomorrow night so we can head over to Annapolis and take a look at that letter."

He took her briefcase to set it down next to his, then relieved her of the small bag as he stepped around her. "No, my Mom's okay. You'll need more than a Friday evening to get the mess cleaned up, and you'll need more than yourself to do it." He turned back to her, his eyes intense, dropping his voice. "Still glad you didn't apply for the head medical examiner slot at Quantico?"

Embarrassed, she rubbed the back of her neck. "Oh, that. I found out yesterday that it was one of those inside track positions, where the participants were just following government regulations. The post was offered to the Assistant Head on Tuesday." She gazed into his face, hesitant. "I guess you're stuck with me."

He smiled down at her. "I think I might survive, but just barely."

Scully let Mulder lead the way into the living room, expecting that he would offer her the bed, but unwilling to presume.

He, in the meantime, had moved away from her, through the living area, but stopped when he realized she was no longer following immediately behind him.

"Mulder, I can use the futon..."

He lifted an eyebrow at her. _Then where do I sleep, the floor?_ He carried her bag into the back room. His head appeared in the doorframe. "M'Lady, your boudoir awaits."

Scully remained in the living area.

Walking back to stand in front of her, he struggled to read her face. "You want to tell me what's on your mind?"

She pursed her lips. "It's this case." Scully headed for the right corner of the futon to press into the soft back as she sat, exhausted in spite of the adrenaline running in her system. "Everything seems too pat, too easy."

Her partner, intrigued, perched on edge of the sofa, his left leg tucked under his right knee so he could face her as they conversed. "How do you mean? Who else would be trashing your place like that? Who else would be collecting disposable people for testing?"

Her head turned restlessly from side to side. "I don't know. It's just that after the past few months, I've started to see conspiracies everywhere. I don't want our situation to cloud my objectivity when I'm working on what may be an unrelated case."

He grinned. "But they *are* everywhere. Conspiracies, large and small, determine the choices we citizens *supposedly* have in everything from the type of toothpaste we buy to our candidates for President."

One corner of her mouth lifted, but he could see, in the fire building behind her eyes, that she was preparing a reasoned dissent. "I know, but we shouldn't overlook more mundane explanations. The disappearance of the homeless and the disaster in Apartment 5 may be totally unrelated...What?"

He was heading for his kitchen. "I'm making some of your herbal tea. This could be fun."

She followed him in, protesting, "I'm *serious*! I'm not just playing Devil's Advocate here."

His hazel eyes glittered as water filled the kettle. "Good. I thought that was my job." He turned a knob, then blue flames appeared under the copper bottom. _Ah, she said this would work._ Several bags of cat mint tea plopped as they hit the bottom of an open saucepan perched on a dry dish towel. Since returning from Oxford, he had never found an acceptable teapot.

As the water heated, Scully paced the length of his galley kitchen, considering the evidence she wanted to present her partner.

Delighted with their role reversal, Mulder watched her, but remained concerned that she was repressing the emotional aftershocks of the break-in. _One thing at a time, G-man._

She faced him. "There's the time factor. Oh, I can accept that they would use Halloween as a cover, since the police would be too busy to take something that deliberate seriously. But I'm not sure it had anything to do with the homeless problem."

"Oh?" The whistling kettle drew his attention away momentarily until he poured the boiling water over the redolent bags.

She stood beside him, envying his ease as he leaned against the counter, fists deep in his pockets. "Skinner rushed this case to us today, remember, ASAP? But there's no real urgency here, like it couldn't have waited until next week. Yes, the disappearances have been escalating, but it's not as if yesterday all the beds in all the clinics along the East Coast mysteriously turned up empty."

Mulder considered her logic. "Or perhaps he knows something he can't tell us again, and he wanted us on this case before we were thrown for a loop." Since she was beginning to scowl at the implication of his words, he touched her shoulder. "Look, I'm not saying you'd handle this any less calmly than you are now." Smiling, he lifted an eyebrow at her. "Sometimes you're so rational I wonder if you have green blood and two hearts, despite your rounded ears."

She squared her shoulders. "Mulder, I'll be fine."

He grasped her elbow, enunciating his words carefully. "Better than anyone else, I *know* what you'll go through trying to reassemble that apartment, even with my help. It *will* wear you down, Scully, and make me overprotective in the process. We might miss something important looking out for each other."

She passed him a mug from the rack over the range. "Okay. I just hate to impose on you."

He eyed her. _Impose all you want. Just don't leave me._ "It's no problem, trust me."

They prepared two cups, one plain for her, the other with a heaping tablespoon of sugar for him.

Once they settled on the futon, he continued. "So we seem to both agree that the Shadows are behind what happened tonight, right?" He waited until her head dipped once. "If not the Shadows collecting samples, then we have to think about the homeless themselves. Full-blown serial killers don't victimize only, and in fact, prey rarely on adult white males. Behavioral Sciences has, in addition, sent over nothing that would indicate an escalating one." He fell silent, hoping the herb would help her relax.

Turning over possibilities, she sipped her tea. Finally, the mug emptied and resting on the coffee table, Scully offered an alternate hypothesis. "I'm not the psychologist-" She waved her hand. "-or the ace profiler."

He chuckled. "But?"

She leaned forward. "Couldn't it be an ex-mental patient who is still slightly unstable, came from a broken home, and may be acting out some unresolved conflict with his father?"

He nodded, then cast about for a way to bring this discussion to a close. _That'll do._ He set his face in a facetious leer. "I confess, fair damsel. But, now you die!"

She groaned, then tried to punch him in the stomach, while the hands he had playfully aimed at her neck were diverted for his own defense to her shoulders. "Mulder!" She pushed his arms away. "I didn't mean you. But you do have a point. It doesn't have to be a mental patient, just someone unbalanced." He began to give her another mock-villain stare. "Mulder! Stop!" The exchange set them both laughing softly, until she began yawning.

Serious for the moment, he slipped an arm around her shoulders to guide her to the back room, not wanting to revisit the bed/futon argument.

Scully considered, as they walked, the warm consideration and courtesy he had shown her since Monday. _Not gallantry. My partner is too out there to be an old-fashioned knight of the Round Table. Try something more his style. Yes, that would be right. A Jedi._ The thought brought a curve to her lips. _Fox Mulder, Special Agent, Jedi Knight._

Standing in the doorway, he dropped his arm, then bent to see her face. "We'll get through this, okay? You're beat and so am I. So enjoy the almost clean sheets. I bought them new for my Mom, and they haven't been used since."

When she squeezed his wrist in gratitude, he backed into the hallway, then she crossed over to the bed, kicking off her shoes.

Mulder turned to leave, but stopped, his hand on the doorknob. "If you need to talk or anything, you know where I'll be, right?"

Scully was positioned at the foot of the bed, rubbing her left calf under a tan trouser leg as she chose to give him one of her devastating full smiles. "Sure, guarding me from liver-eating mutants with your lightsaber?"

The warmth in his eyes told her that her gratitude had struck home. "Barring the door with my final strength."

-o-0-o-

Apartment 42  
Friday, 3:17 am

"Well, Bill, what are you waiting for?"

The spirit of William Mulder tore his spectral vision away from his sleeping son to focus on his companion. "I don't know, Captain. With the Gateway staying open for the present, we don't have to quickly make contact and rush back, and I've hurt him enough. Fox has been through so much he needs to assimilate that if I were to start invading his thoughts now, it might overload him completely."

The shade of Captain William Scully sent his sympathetic concurrence. "I understand, since I feel the same way about my Starbuck. She's trying to right so many wrongs that she may lose herself in the process. It's fortunate that they have each other, and that their enemies are still alive. Your old friend lost it almost as soon as you left him, you know."

Bill Mulder turned grim. "I don't care. The man blew up the house in Chilmark while he thought Caroline was still inside. Whatever we were to each other was over years ago, so I'm pleased she's happy with this other fellow. Since they've been alone for far too long, Max will take good care of her and give her the affection she deserves. But him? After the death and destruction he's caused, I hope all his victims eventually drop by for a visit." The phantoms passed through the locked front door and down the stairs. "Are you anxious about visiting Maggie?"

Bill Scully emitted resignation and dissent. "No, not really. Maggie is my one true love, and to see her, as I will shortly, will be a joy. But if you don't mind, I'd like to be alone with her."

The apparitions were passing over the Potomac as they communicated.

"Indeed. I need to visit Sam alone as well. There is so much I want to say to my girl, now that she is ready to listen, and considering what she does."

The specters separated, one lost in happy memories, the other in what might have been.

-o-0-o-

Back in the apartment, Fox Mulder twitched, then found himself awake and upright. "Dad? Are you here? Dad?" He slumped back on the futon, rubbing his face, the crackling of paint separating from paint telling him he was not the only mortal who had awakened.

"Mulder? You okay?" His barefoot partner padded down the hall to stand at the far end of the couch, tying her robe around herself.

"Yeah, I just had the strangest dream, that's all. I'll be fine." He ran his hand through his hair. "You need to get some rest, Scully." As she shook her head, then turned to step into his kitchen, Mulder dropped his feet to the floor to follow her. "Why are you up? Did you experience something strange too?"

She had set two mugs on the counter and was reaching for the sugar. "Mm-hum." She dropped a tablespoonful in one, then poured leftover tea in both. "I thought my Father was in the room with me, Mulder." The numbers 2:33 glowing in the timer window, she pressed the START button as Mulder pulled himself onto the counter. "But it must just be my anxiety about my apartment tonight, combined with the stress of everything we've been through lately. I thought the tea might help me relax again." Sighing, she crossed her arms as she propped her hip against the counter. "It's my own fault, you know."

"Hum?" He leaned towards her, concerned that she was grieving for her lost father and sister. "No, Scully, it isn't. I've already told you, I think it's about Fate."

She faced him, unwilling to be drawn into metaphysics. "No, not that. I mean it's my fault that I'm awake. My father used to recite Irish legends every Halloween and I think my subconscious used those memories in my dreams."

He raised an eyebrow. "What legends?"

She was shocked. _What do you mean, what legends?_ "I was remembering that he said the dead walk on this night, to visit their families and those who have done them wrong."

His mouth formed a silent O. "Yes, those legends. They aren't exclusively Irish. In fact - "

The microwave dinged. She withdrew the mugs, handing one to him. They tasted their teas, grimaced, then exchanged cups.

Mulder stared into the brown liquid while he collected his thoughts, before raising his eyes to hers. "Scully, I never really told you what happened to me while I was in the hogan on the reservation, did I?"

She drained the mug, then set it in his sink before responding. "You said you had 'gone to the Origin Place,' but more than that, no. We were too involved in staying alive to talk much then."

"Well, I thought I was visited..."

-o-0-o-

Along Eisenhower Avenue  
Alexandria, Virginia  
Friday, 7:48 am

"That's the last of these crummy jobs I ever want to do." The short, powerfully built man ran his hands through his red curls before he slipped his glasses on. "I don't understand why we can't just take those two out and spare the Organization this continued headache."

The driver, blond and tanned from his recent vacation, glanced over, reminding himself to use their established aliases while on a job. "Well, they're old men, 'Andrew,' and old men go soft. Although, if I were running things, I'd just shoot them one night myself. The Organization has too much at stake right now to waste resources on the FBI. Hey, 'Ace,' how are the wiretaps working?"

The brunette, pale from too many hours with a computer, pulled the headphones off to smooth her hair down. "Great, 'Finn', although 'Charlie's' boss here says some really strange stuff in his sleep."

Pushing his horn-rimmed glasses back up on his nose, 'Charlie' looked up from his laptop. "Oh, really? The guy has always creeped me out, sitting in his office in the dark all day long. Every time I bring something in for him, I feel like I should check the corners for bodies or something. What did he ramble about in his sleep?"

'Ace' was inserting a new tape in the recorder. "It sounds like a full conversation and not just mumbles. If I understand him properly, he was apologizing to Mulder's father for wasting him, and reminding him he was still protecting his son."

'Finn' used the rear-view mirror to make eye contact with 'Ace.' "That news should make my boss happy, since he's been trying to get some dirt on Mister Black Lung for months now. Do you have the conversation on tape?" At her affirmation, he steered the car into the right-hand lane. "Maybe we can brown-nose some with it then, but if I can't escape these late night details, well..." He shrugged.

'Andrew' shook his head. "Once you're in this business, it's for good, Mister Wall Street."

"No, I've thought about applying for a position on Matheson's staff."

The others hooted in derision.

'Charlie' huffed. "But he's the biggest 'good guy' in the Senate. He'll know, won't he?"

'Andrew' frowned. "Not necessarily. We might want someone there, so we'll know what Matheson and Skinner are up to. I could have Randall write a recommendation for you, since he's new. The Democrats are preaching reconciliation, so it might work." He punched the dashboard. "But we still have to stifle Mulder. It's too bad about Alex, we could use his insights since he worked with him."

'Ace' chuckled. "No insights required, guys. If you really want to waste Mulder big-time, don't just intimidate Scully, one of you hunks try to ask her out." The men turned to her. "He's such a perfect gentleman around her, especially lately, it makes you wonder."

'Charlie' grinned back. "Ooh, the nerd programmer and electronics whiz have her hopes up?"

She rolled her eyes. "Him? Ugh. But you should hear some of the rumors that run around the labs."

'Finn' shrugged as he pulled up to an unmarked door behind a broken-down warehouse. "Well, none of this matters, kids. We don't run the show, they do, so we'd better get down to work."

-o-0-o-

Apartment 42  
Arlington, VA  
Friday, 9:30 am

"Hey, Princess Leia, rise and shine."

Dana Scully opened one eye.

Her partner was bending over her, steam curling out of an oversized mug in one hand, the other still resting lightly on her shoulder.

She could smell the heady aroma of the strong African coffee he preferred. Pushing herself out of the pillows, she lifted her alarm clock from the bedside table to hold it close to her nose. "Mulder! Why did you let me sleep so long?"

Fully dressed, he smirked down at her, then struck a pose. "Those noises? You weren't just appreciating the floor show? Only happens twice a day around here."

She groaned as she tucked her feet under her hips.

Mulder sat by her knees, extending the arm with the mug. "Try some. Dig the PJ's, Scully."

Scully sipped the coffee, appreciating his use of skim milk, rather than the cream she had forsworn in March. She rubbed the too-long flannel sleeve between her thumb and forefinger, admiring the muted browns and whites woven into a basic plaid. "Mom found these. All natural cotton, no dyes. 'Iceman plaid,' she called them."

Mulder grinned. "Ooh, catchy."

She looked up. "No, really. It's the same pattern as the cloth found on that man in the ice."

Raising an eyebrow, he nodded. "I'll remember that for Christmas, Scully. Expect a birchbark basket for carrying fires under the tree. Or grass-stuffed boots?"

She ignored the jibe. "I'd been saving them for our next extended field case, but I figured they were better for visiting than the sweats." _Turnabout is fair play, partner._ She reached over to flip the point of the black tie covered in rows of swirling grey X's with her index finger. "Dig the neckwear. Frohike?"

He smoothed the silk down possessively. "Was there ever any doubt?" He tipped his head as he dropped his voice conspiratorially. "Now, should you want a scarf, there would be certain *obligations*, and they won't involve climbing the Alps."

Scully up held her free hand, signaling surrender. "So, Mulder, do we check the Maryland shelters today?"

He walked over to his computer table to pick up the case folder. "Might as well. With the government operating on continuing resolutions, Travel won't spring for more than one trip on this case. We can't plan on interviewing at any of the more distant ones until Wednesday at least." He frowned, thinking of the appointment that lay ahead. "Oh, the vet called to say the Red Menace is okay, just upset. We can pick him up anytime we want."

-o-0-o-

Charles Street Clinic for the Indigent  
Baltimore, MD  
Friday, 11:35 am

Doctor Nora Samuelson dropped the pen on the pad of paper. As she checked the list of patients, she rubbed her right index finger with her left hand, where the joints were already showing signs of arthritis. _Well, Nora what do you expect? First, you work your way through a Master's in Nursing Science. Then there was all that paperwork in 'Nam. And if you couldn't torture yourself enough, you came back and put yourself through Med School._

This was her normal weekly visit with her test patients, usually students or the homeless, who received a small compensation for participation in her study. The Clinic had made an office for her in a tiny cubicle large enough only for a desk and two armless chairs.

She sighed, picked the pen back up, then began writing up the results from her last patient, Carl. A borderline psychotic with a repressed tendency for violence, Carl had been one of those declared 'functional' in the last round of reviews at St. Elizabeth's in the District. What was probably really the truth was that the financial troubles of the Capital City had dictated the number of patients the Victorian facility could handle, but Carl wasn't sick enough to be kept. Fortunately, between the lithium and TP-101, he was getting along fairly well. His six month old job in a Roy Rogers as a cook was secure and his temper hadn't flared at his roommates in the group home.

_I hope these new anti-hallucinogens work out._ They were everything one could want in a drug, simple to manufacture, nontoxic except in extremely high doses, but so far, no major side effects, at least in the animal trials. Only the human testing remained. _On to the next one. Hum, Johnny. What a poor, mixed-up kid._

Johnny shuffled in as he smiled at Doctor Samuelson. The mature woman pulled her greying brown hair back in a barrette, which reminded him of Aunt Sarah, so he liked to talk to her. "Hi, Doctor Samuelson." He sat in the metal chair in her cubicle, then dropped his bag by his feet.

"Hi, Johnny. You're looking dapper today."

The stringy boy visibly swelled at the compliment. "I got these at the shelter in DC. They give away new clothes for free, so I could look good when I rode the train home this morning."

She leaned over her desk. "You didn't steal the money for the ticket did you?"

His eyes grew wide. "Oh, no, Doctor Samuelson." He put his hands on the desk top, then leaned over to get close to her concerned face. "I begged. People are real nice this time of year. Got five dollars from one guy who was showing off for his lady."

They settled back in their respective seats.

"Well, Johnny, have the drugs been working? No voices?"

He shook his head as he took a breath. "Er..."

Nora looked up from her notes. "But what?"

"I saw something on the Ellipse last night." He hugged himself as he shrank into the chair. "I think it was a man, but it was a deer, too. I don't know."

Nora scribbled on his file. "You've never *seen* things before, have you, Johnny?"

"No, never, Doctor Samuelson. I thought the medicine would work on everything."

Nora rubbed her knuckle absently. "It's new, Johnny, that's what you're helping us find out. I'll tell you what. Try taking one pill a day, not two." She made another note. "Have you talked to the people at the other office yet?"

Thinking of Mister Johnston's house, Johnny closed his eyes. "I don't want to go in a foster home again."

Frowning, she checked the first page of the file. "Well, according to your chart, you are eighteen now. You could try a group home, where you lived with several other boys your age, and you all went to school. You did well in school, before your Aunt died, right?"

Puffing out his chest, he beamed. "Lots of A's, 'specially in math. Loved algebra. Fun to figure things out."

"Well, think about it, okay? Take this card with you. It has the address and phone number for the group home, and I've written my phone number on the back. You call me if you want to go, I'll come get you, take you to meet Elizabeth and the boys." She smiled as she handed him the card, along with a refill of the pills. "You'll need to come back next week, okay? Try to remember?"

Johnny grinned back, picked up his bag, then was out the door. _Maybe a home with other boys and a nice lady in charge wouldn't be so bad._

Nora Samuelson returned to flexing her fingers. _It's the nurse in you. You want to fix everybody._ She checked her watch, calculating how late she would be for her lunch with Susan.

-o-0-o-

J. Edgar Hoover Building  
Tuesday, November 5, 1996  
9:23 am

Inspector Phoebe Green clipped on the Visitor pass, waiting on the front check-in desk. _I wonder how much he's changed._ As a foreign national, she would be escorted through the building by her ex-lover, facing down the stares that were sure to follow anyone foolish enough to meet with "Spooky" Mulder.

When the elevator doors rolled aside, the partners stepped out, Scully nudging Mulder as she pointed their visitor out.

Phoebe looked the tall agent over. _Mulder, you haven't aged a day, and I see you've managed to hang on to at least one partner._ Wary, but resolved, she met his eyes. _I want this over as badly as you do._

Mulder glanced at a passing tour group before he spoke to the Englishwoman. "Well, hello, Inspector Green. Waiting for anyone?"

Her breath hissed out through her teeth. "Hello, Mulder." She turned to Scully to tentatively extend her hand. "Glad to see there's someone who can work with him, Agent Scully."

The red-haired pathologist grasped her palm in a firm, professional clasp, then dropped it.

Phoebe narrowed her eyes. _They both look so guarded._ The rumors must be true, then. Her old flame from Oxford was getting closer to the truth he so desperately sought, but it was beginning to wear him down.

They were both in their coats. As Phoebe waited, Scully spoke to the uniformed sergeant by the metal detector. "Have you searched her yet?"

The African-American man nodded.

After he was favored with a slight smile, Scully rounded on Phoebe. "Well, Inspector Green, let's go."

"Go where?"

Mulder waved toward the front of the building "Out of here. We need to talk where we can't be overheard."

"What? Not in the basement?"

He stared at his feet before he gritted his teeth. "The walls have ears. Move."

-o-0-o-

Old Post Office Pavilion  
Tuesday, 9:35 am

They were seated around a small cast iron garden table in the central processing area that had been converted to an indoor veranda, surrounded by potted trees. The Nineteenth Century building itself had been restored as a tourist attraction, with several levels of small shops. Phoebe sipped some Prince Edward tea, while Mulder savored the Kenyan coffee he was holding, while studying his ex-lover's face.

Scully was scrutinizing the visitors milling around on the several stories of overhead balconies, then focused on the Englishwoman's closely cropped reddish-brown hair. "Okay, Phoebe, let's hear it. Why you? Why now? Mulder and I have kicked this around, but we want you to be straight with us."

Phoebe looked from one somber face to the other. "Hey, guys. I don't want to be here. I was given this assignment by my regular CI, not some dark spymaster. He knows I knew you at University, Mulder, but no more than that. I haven't told him anything, because, frankly, I'm not hung up on it, at least not anymore."

Scully watched her partner's face harden into a hooded mask. She wanted to reassure him with a glancing touch, but restrained herself, sliding her hand over until it rested on the fabric of his coat sleeve. _Don't let her get to you. She always knew how to push you._

The Inspector arched a brow at the minuscule gesture. "I've been reading up on your stepfather, Mulder. How much do you know about him?"

He kept the styrofoam in front of his lips, left his voice in a menacing growl. "How much do I know? He survived Dachau, and he saved my mother's life. How much more do I need to know?"

Seething, she leaned across the table. "Look, get this past those deflector shields you have on maximum. I don't want this! Here!" She grabbed a folder from her briefcase, then shoved it across the latticework. "Keep it, mail it to the Washington Post, all right? Just stop glaring at me like I'm the devil."

One long hand grasped the folder to pull it close to him. He flipped through the pages before sliding the papers over for Scully.

His partner thought she caught the slightest relaxation in his shoulders. _Good, maybe we can discuss this like rational adults._ "Okay, Phoebe, but cut us a break. You weren't exactly honest with us about L'ively and the MP."

Phoebe sighed. _Oh, that._ "Look, last time was a mistake. Your stepfather is a good man, Mulder, but he's treading on alligator's toes, and these reptiles don't like to be disturbed. You could lose her all over again if he's not careful."

He put the cup down. "Okay, you've dropped the information in our laps. If last time was a mistake, then help me protect them, Phoebe. We have our own snapping turtles to worry about on this side of the lake." _There. You've heard our worst. Now rise to be the woman I thought you were, once._

She nodded. "Sure, I'll do what I can." A bright blue bag barely missed her head as a woman in a 'NEW YORK' T-shirt attempted to control three children at the next table. "Why couldn't we discuss this in your office?"

Scully gripped his arm, he nodded, then they stepped away from the table.

Phoebe watched them conversing, his hand on her shoulder, the red hair brushing his tie as her head bobbed. _Not lovers. But tight, like two halves of a whole._ Suddenly she missed Eric and his warmth. _I'll be home soon, my Heart. I'm glad 'Artist and Muse' is still on our front wall, not in some Earl's drawing room._ Phoebe focused on the other side of the table as they resumed their places.

Scully began speaking quietly for them both. "We've just spent the weekend putting my place back together after someone went through and trashed all my private keepsakes and family photos. We were almost assassinated in Chiapas in September."

"It's those documents of yours, isn't it?"

Mulder rubbed his face, a gesture familiar from too many late nights of study. "Oh, the whole world must know about them by now. We don't understand why they matter so much."

Phoebe pondered her choice of words, then leaned across the table, gratified when the FBI agents closed the rest of the distance. "Look, I don't know how much you two know about the secret powers in the major governments of the world."

Mulder and Scully pulled their chairs up closer.

Phoebe dropped her voice. "We hear things at the Yard. Things we can't verify, but we all know are true. If the election here in the States goes as expected, then Clinton will pull the Democrats into control of both houses of Congress again. The Shadows in your government are worried that with the Cold War really over, they'll be pushed off the Gravy Train. They're playing damage control and if they keep you two quiet, one of the thorns in their sides won't need scratching for a while."

Mulder's face twitched. "Guess I'd better be a good citizen and march off to the polls." His partner's glare prompted another jibe. "What, Scully, you stand in line at 7:00 am?" The Look was all the answer he needed.

Phoebe smiled, enjoying her silent, but obviously effective, reprimand. "Early bird, Mulder, but you haven't changed."

As he glowered, Scully shot the Inspector a Look of her own. _Don't get him going or I'll be up and on the phone all night._

Old emotions, long suppressed, rose, his temper flaring strongest. "You were never around in the mornings, as I recall."

Now Scully felt compelled to step in. "Phoebe, thanks, but I think we have a meeting with Assistant Director Skinner in a few minutes. May we keep this folder, or should we make copies?"

She waved her assent. "Keep it. There's nothing in it that shouldn't pass from one law enforcement agency to another." _He still withdraws as easily as he did fifteen years ago._ "Listen, guys, if I hurry, I can catch an early flight back to Heathrow. If you learn anything, call me." She pushed her chair back, then froze, half standing.

Mulder's hand had grasped Phoebe's wrist, but he was looking at his partner. "Scully, may I have a minute here?"

She nodded, then headed for the door.

Phoebe tried to read the emotions swirling behind his eyes. "Mulder, I don't want to fight with you. What you and I were is over."

His grip tightened almost to the point of pain, then he released her as they resumed their seats. "I know. That's not why I wanted to talk to you alone. Scully's been a good friend to me these past few years, and we need to talk without her feeling like she has to be my Guardian Angel. I can't leave the country, and my Mother may be in trouble. I need your help to protect her. For whatever I once meant to you, please..." His palms were out, flat, on the table, the fingers fanned, pressing hard against the latticework.

She ran an index finger down the right hand, from the wrist to the middle fingernail. "I promise, Mulder. I'll try to track them down and keep them out of trouble. Partly, that's my assignment, and partly, I'd like to atone for how I've treated you in the past. I understand how you felt about me then, because I feel that way about someone now. As much as my conscience would like me to, I can't take the pain I've caused you away, but, I'll do my best, okay? I wouldn't mislead you about something this important. My parents aren't in anywhere as good health as your Mother is."

They stood at the same time, raw from the emotions that had been bared to each other. For a moment, Phoebe expected him to take her by the arm, as he often used to do, but he distanced himself from her as they walked. _You're only missing Eric again._

-o-0-o-

U.S. Navy Memorial  
Tuesday, 10:45 am

Scully watched as Inspector Phoebe Green climbed into a Yellow Cab to be whisked up Pennsylvania Avenue. _And out of our lives, forever, I hope._

Mulder scanned the surroundings for her auburn hair, grinning broadly when he saw how much space his partner had established between them. He sent her a questioning look as he waited for the light to change, then crossed the street, loping past the Hoover Building to the short rise of steps where she sat. "Sorry to kick you out, Scully, but I needed to read her for myself without you trying to shield me." He lowered himself to the steps beside her, his eyes tracking the vanishing rusty Plymouth. "I think she'll help us, for a while, anyway. She's finally fallen hard for someone, and her dirty tricks are costing her sleep. I only hope he's man enough for her."

"Mulder, don't..."

He turned and finished the sentence for her. "...let her get under my skin? Not this time, Scully, twice was enough. Three times and you *could* consider me a suspect in these homeless disappearances."

Scully's fists were clenched. "She makes me so angry. You're *so* decent to me. Since you two were close, I can only imagine how well you treated her, but she crushed you like a worm!"

Memories of angry words and a time of aching cold receded as an image formed in Mulder's mind that made him smirk. "So my little sister is going to pull her hair and claw her eyes? Thanks, but only if you sell tickets. Oof! Stop, Scully. I was only think of Frohi... Oof!" He rubbed his ribs where her fist had landed, twice, then sobered. "So this mythical meeting with Skinner?"

She rolled her eyes. "Is about to happen. Look."

His eyes followed the vector her finger indicated to the opposite street corner, where he could pick out the bald head of the Assistant Director. "Looks like Dad had a bad day at the Capital. Do you think if we go to our dungeon he'll..."

She pursed her lips, trying not to laugh as their superior approached.

"Agent Mulder, Agent Scully."

"Sir." Their response was nearly simultaneous.

"I didn't know the Bureau paid to have its agents sit on street corners."

Mulder leapt at the opening. "New directive, Sir. We're to panhandle until we have enough funds for stationery and bullets."

"Very funny, Agent Mulder. Remember that line the next time you're on Leno. In the interim, I need to talk to you two about the Sharpsburg case." The partners looked puzzled, which irritated him. "The case, people. What you're supposed to be working on now instead of goofing off. Agent Scully?" Skinner depended on her for a straight answer when Mulder was in the mood for sparring with him, as he so obviously was now.

"Sir, Gloria rushed us a case about homeless disappearing from shelters. So far, it has had nothing to do with Sharpsburg." Scully used the steps to bring herself to eye level with the two men as the partners stood.

Skinner glanced around at the crowd before he responded. "Then we have a problem, or perhaps we don't. Senator Matheson warned me to pull you off the Sharpsburg case for your continued health and well-being. But you were never on it, apparently."

Mulder shook his head. "This makes no sense, Sir. If the case we have been on is meaningless, then why was Scully's apartment ransacked on Halloween?"

Skinner pondered. "Is this true, Agent Scully?" He watched her nod. "I don't know. Certain *powers* are so unsettled that it may be wise of me to send you two on a long vacation at Bureau expense, but I'd hate to have to justify it to those idiots." He jerked his head back towards the Capitol, then sighed. "Keep plugging on this homeless thing. It's not glamorous, but your efforts may actually save a few of the nation's unwanted." With that, he turned away from them to head back toward the Hoover building.

The partners stared at each other, then Mulder offered her a hand down. "I don't get it. Phoebe, the homeless, the damage. None of the pieces seem to fit."

She was surprised to find him clueless in this relatively secure moment. "Maybe they're not supposed to. We have to be careful not to impose order and meaning on random events."

They followed their AD, leaving a discrete distance.

He glanced down at her. "By the way, did I ever tell you how glad I am you're still my partner, Scully?"

She stopped him with a hand on his elbow, her green-blue eyes serious. "Only about six times this past weekend. Thanks for being there, Mulder. It was as tough as you said it would be, throwing away all those pieces of my life."

He brushed her shoulder lightly with the back of his fingers. "S'okay. You were there in Chilmark. I had to return the favor. What?" She was staring at a tuft of grass poking up through the sidewalk, then he found himself bending over to check her face.

"Are they going to leave us with nothing? No friends, no family, just those ancient notebooks?"

Mulder moved as close to her as he dared, feeling like all eyes in the building were trained on them. "No." He attempted a hesitant smile as she lifted her gaze to meet his. "I still have you, and you're worth a thousand Phoebes." He nodded as he arched his brows.

She wanted to return the kindness, but words failed her at the moment, so she just tried to send gratitude with a look.

Message received, he pulled open the glass door, then shepherded her inside.

-o-0-o-

Office of the Lone Gunmen  
Alexandria, VA  
Tuesday, 8:30 pm

Langly craned his neck to identify the figure on the front steps of their office/home through the peephole. "Hey, G-man, you've been tailed!" He was grinning as the door swung open, revealing Dana Scully, wearing a comfortably faded pair of jeans, running shoes, a thick green wool fatigue sweater, and a thoroughly disgusted expression on her cold-reddened face. Mulder vacillated between feeling relief that she was still safe and trepidation over the tongue-lashing he knew was coming.

"Mulder! I thought I'd find you here after you weren't at your place. Skinner tells us we shouldn't be looking at Sharpsburg so the first chance you get..." The Agent and the Gunmen were poring over surveillance photos taken from bank video cameras.

"I make sure Sharpsburg is under observation, but not by us." He waved his arms over the documents on the table-top as if he were conducting an orchestra.

She stalked over to him, glaring at his three accomplices, but wedged herself into the tight group.

Mulder and Frohike separated, purposefully giving her a little less space than she would feel comfortable with to stand.

She glanced around the table. "So, what's going on?"

Byers slid one of the prints in front of her. "Your arrival may help us determine that, Agent Scully. What does this look like to you?"

She studied the image. "The guards are moving artworks into or out of a vault at..." She tapped the frozen digits on the overhead clock and the darkened windows. "...midnight?"

The four faces lit up.

Mulder slid to his right, bumping into Langly, but giving his partner space to angle away from Frohike. "Not just any art, Scully. Take a look at this." He lifted an enlargement from under three other prints. "In the full photo for this one, the guards are repairing a damaged section of the transport framework and a portion of the canvas is exposed. Byers matched the partial up with one of the paintings known to be in Joseph Goebbels' home when Berlin was occupied by the Allies."

Chewing her lip, she tapped his arm. "Hang on guys, I've been reading about some high profile art thefts from museums in Europe and Israel. According to the posts I saw on the Net, the burglar can get in and out of the highest security areas in less time than the guards can wire up the place." She turned to the Gunmen's LINUX machine to bring up a section of the AP newswire. "See, there's your painting, Mulder, and check this out." She tapped a name in the section on its history.

Frohike hovered over her shoulder. "Ooh, Babe, Smart is Sexy."

Just as Mulder expected her to, Scully backed away from him.

He slid off his stool to face her, blocking the little man's view of his partner. "This also reveals a whole new set of adversaries. We may both have been wrong about who trashed your place on Halloween. You followed our SOP as regards the Queen?"

Scully's head bobbed up and down. "Direct site-to-site transfer. No overnighters." Her eyes widened as she connected the photos and the notebooks. "Wait, Mulder, I understand what's going on!" He stepped closer to her. "When I arrived at the first bank, I noticed a large panel truck and several cars across the street, all occupied. I thought it was odd that these guys were just sitting in plain sight, waiting."

He shook his head. "Our friends in black at least have the courtesy to hide in the shadows."

Scully rubbed the back of her neck. "The old bank had two large vaults, which was also odd for such a small Branch." Her eyes narrowed. "My face is known, now, and they probably assumed I was there on official business, tracking them. It would be no trouble for anyone to find where I live."

Her partner ran a hand through his hair. "Jeez, Scully, thanks. Now I'll have to spend every night on your sofa if I want to get any sleep at all." He turned to the Gunmen. "Guys, help me out here."

His eyes aglow, Frohike stepped forward. "We get to take turns?"

Shaking his head fiercely, Mulder frowned. "No, I need a list of major art collectors and their dealers, both the legitimate ones, and those who don't make their collections and services known, if you catch my drift."

Frohike's shoulders sagged, but Langly swiveled on his stool to face his Power PC.

Pushing his chair over to their Pentium, Byers fired off a rapid round of questions: "Think we should limit our search to the major WWII player countries? Would the collectors be young or old? Do the dealers necessarily have to be First World?"

Whipping around her partner, Scully resumed her place at the free machine, returning an answering salvo, "Only those with a taste for the Old Masters. Both. No."

-o-0-o-

Lone Gunmen's Office  
Tuesday, 11:55 pm

"Well, that's a start." Scully smacked the edges of the pile of standard sized sheets on the table, stapling the now-even pages together before passing them to Mulder. As he scanned the list, she stood behind him, pointing over his arm, while grasping his seat back for support. "I think these three are the most likely suspects, but I've included the others just in case."

"Why those?"

"Oh, just my usual mundane reasons. Money, motive, and opportunity. All three made killings in the junk bond market in the Eighties and have to dump their money somewhere. All are major collectors of the Old Masters, and all have permanent or vacation homes in Sharpsburg."

When her head dropped momentarily on his shoulder, he spun around, alarmed. "Scully, you okay?"

She rubbed her eyes. "Sorry, Mulder. I've been up since three. Susan E-mailed me the first draft of our publication on the herbal antibiotics from Chiapas. When I heard the beep and saw what it was, I was too keyed up to sleep any more, so I reviewed it before coming in to work. I should know I'll pay if I try to burn the candle at both ends too long, since I was up late Sunday night too, nervous about being in my apartment. The last good night of rest I've had was at your place."

"Hey, guys, look!" Langly punched up the volume on the television in the corner. "It's official. Dole's conceded. Four more years!"

Mulder focused on the screen momentarily. "And Congress?"

Frohike smiled. "Belongs to the Democrats again."

The agents groaned, remembering Phoebe's inside information. When prompted, Mulder explained their concerns to the three Gunmen.

Frohike spoke for them all. "Oh. So should you guys just hire bodyguards, or what?"

Scully glanced at her partner. "That long vacation is beginning to look better and better."

He nodded, the intensity of his thoughts drawing a curtain over his face.

-o-0-o-

Office Building  
Manhattan, New York  
Wednesday, November 6, 1996  
10:15 am

"Well, what do you think?" With a flourish, the balding man removed the drape, revealing his latest acquisition.

The white head nodded, then a long arm swept over the canvas. "Such style as he has, totally natural?" One looked to the other for confirmation. "Those bold touches of color break up the subtle greens magnificently. He's in London?"

"Yes, I was visiting the Yard when I heard about the show, so I stopped by. He had a larger piece that didn't sell, but was finer than this. All scarlet poppies and a young couple, rendered with almost photographic realism in the center. Magnificent!" The long fingers tapped a buzzer, then his blond assistant appeared. "Come, take a look at this, Mister Lindhauer. What do you think?"

'Finn' stepped back, nodding his approval. "Yes, Sir, very fine. How many more pieces does he have available?"

The balding man passed over a catalog. "Several. You should take more of your windfall from the stock market and invest it in this fellow's work. You'll make a fortune one day."

A wave of perfectly manicured fingers. "As a matter of fact, young man, I'm thinking of visiting him myself. Why don't you accompany me?" At his nod, the long face took on a gleam. "Very well, then, we'll leave tomorrow."

Begging off for private reasons, the assistant took his leave. _All these personal trips to view art are too much._ 'Finn' closed the door behind him as he left. _Little does he know how I've been acquiring my art, and it's not with taxpayer dollars either. If I were in charge, things would be different._

Afterwards, the sallow-faced man interlinked his hands behind his back. "Shouldn't we be concerned about the changes in Congress?" The question was asked in his soft monotone.

"Nonsense, we've weathered worse. Remember all the work we did in 1973 to protect ourselves from Colby and his confessions?" The two old heads nodded. "However, I have recently received some information on our Washington colleague that is both disturbing and enlightening. It seems our friend is talking in his sleep." He walked over to a paneled maple wall, touching the control that slid it away, then pressed the PLAY button on his tape recorder.

-o-0-o-

Baltimore Museum of Art Park  
Wednesday, November 27, 1996  
7:37 pm

Nora Samuelson pushed the passenger door open, then a shaking, bedraggled boy crawled inside. "Johnny? What happened?" She smoothed aside the curls, wincing sympathetically at the cut cheek and swollen eyes. _He'll have two nice shiners in the morning._

He sniffled, then hiccuped twice before answering. "Can I go to that home? I'm hungry and cold, and I just got beat up for my bag and my extra set of clothes. I don't want to be outside anymore."

The car pulled away from the curb. "Oh, no. I couldn't just drop you off with Elizabeth tonight. Would you like to sleep on my couch? Have a hot bath and a big Thanksgiving dinner?"

His eyes widened at the thought.

"When was the last time you had a real meal?"

He shrugged.

"I haven't seen you since last Friday. Where were you tonight?"

He hugged himself as he shivered. "I was in the park, sleeping under one of the ash trees. I was dreaming about three ladies, one young, one your age, and one as old as my Aunt Sarah. They were standing over me, trying to tell me something, but they were talking funny."

Nora applied the brakes, slowing to a stop at a red light. Once halted, she turned her face toward him.

He shook his head. "I thought they were real, but when I woke up, they were gone. Later the men came."

As the light changed, she queried him. "Have you been taking your medicine, Johnny?"

He nodded vigorously. "One pill a day, just like you said, Doctor Samuelson."

She frowned. "Can I tell you something?"

He swelled with anticipation. "Sure!"

"You may be special, Johnny. You're the only one who's had any side effects from TP-101. While you're at the home, I'd like to visit you, and run some tests. Would that be okay?" Her words in his ears were like water in the throat of someone lost in the desert.

"I'm special? Anytime, Doctor Samuelson! Can we start tomorrow?"

Shaking her head, she laughed. "Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. First I feed you a decent meal to put some meat on those bones. We'll get you checked in and start the tests on Friday."

-o-0-o-

J. Edgar Hoover Building  
Washington, DC  
Wednesday, 8:45 pm

While standing beside a map of the Eastern US, Fox Mulder pushed two blue pins into the P in Philadelphia, then turned to his partner, who was leaning, bleary-eyed, against a file cabinet. After driving all afternoon and evening through the rush hours of three major metropolitan areas and the holiday traffic, they were adding the information on the latest disappearances to their data base.

"Well, Scully, what do you think?"

"That I'm glad tomorrow is a holiday, and with the Gunmen supposed to show up on Friday, I'll be able to stay in one place for more than twelve hours."

Scratching his prickly chin, he nodded. "Yeah, right. I'm happy your Mom will put up with us, too." Lifting an eyebrow, he tapped the map.

"Oh, that." Attempting to deduce a pattern from the arrangement of colored plastic dots, Scully perused the charts. "I can't figure out anything that ties these disappearances together. With just the data from the Washington area, we thought it was someone either sampling or murdering adult white males." She waved her arm down the coastline from Boston to Charleston. "But this I don't understand. No uniform distribution by age or sex or race, or even, location. Some of the missing were extremely ill, some in the best of health." She leaned against her partner's desk beside where he had positioned himself, crossing her arms until they were unintentionally in identical stances.

Mulder sighed, shaking his head. "Well, as our first Consulting Detective said, we should twist our theories to suit the facts, not the facts to suit the theories, and right now, I don't have anything to twist." He dropped his shoulders. "Let's call it a night. We do need to hit the road early tomorrow."

The agents collected their assorted bags and left the office. As they waited for the elevator, Scully shifted her weight from one foot to the other in an effort to stay awake.

Mulder glanced down at her. "You'll probably be glad to hear this. Travel disallowed our request to revisit the shelter in Boston. The carry-over funds from the old fiscal year have expired, so all trips have been canceled."

The Republican-controlled Congress had decided, in a fit of pique, to refuse to cooperate with the Clinton White House. They had suspended debate on the new Budget, then recessed for the rest of the year, leaving the Justice Department, as well as several other branches of the Federal Government, strapped for cash, again.

She held still, swaying slightly, so Mulder took her by the elbow. "Oh, good. Now we don't have to drive another ten hours. I'm so tired of long trips in automobiles, and it seems forever since Halloween. I never understood why the Bureau won't spring for airline tickets, but will pay mileage. For the more distant cities, it works out to almost the same amount of money."

He snorted his agreement. "And if I don't see another pathetic line of dirty people waiting for Campbell's soup and Wonder Bread for a while, I'll be happy." He paused, finding the energy for the most minute of smirks. "Compassiongate."

Scully stared up at his red-rimmed eyes. "What?"

"Oh, just thinking up a name for the press to use when it leaks that the FBI doesn't care about disappearing homeless."

The elevator doors opened, finally. As they walked inside, Scully caught her heel in the gap between the elevator car and the floor. Frustrated, she pulled her foot out, then kicked the shoe into the box, sending it across the small space to rebound off the wall. The doors closed then they slowly ascended. Scully picked the pump up, noting the gap between the heel and the sole. _A new pair, too._ The partners leaned against the back wall of the car.

Mulder closed his eyes, but his mind continued to churn. "I wonder if Byers came up with anything new on the art in Sharpsburg."

His partner's eyes were closed as well. "I don't care. Right now, my mind is soaking in a steaming hot bath, imagining soothing vapors _Chamomile, or perhaps some of those fresh elderberries_, waiting for my body to join it." Sobering, she leaned into his side. "Considering what today is, Mulder, I'll forgo everything if you'd like to talk."

Gazing down at her, Mulder flashed an wobbly little grin. Finding he was partly relieved that he could share his burden with someone, partially filled with an unexpected sense of anticipation, he took her arm to help her balance her unevenly distributed weight. "No, Scully, thank you, though. This year I feel like I'll finally find out something about Sam. I don't know why, I just do." He eyed her. _I'm all right, partner._ "However, that hot bath requires further investigation."

"Mulder!" Scully walked through the doors while they were partly open so he couldn't see her grinning at their jests.

-o-0-o-

Annapolis, Maryland  
Thursday, November 28, 1996  
10:30 am

"Was the traffic bad this morning, dear?" Margaret Scully swept the celery pieces into a bowl, sprinkling in freshly chopped parsley, oregano, and thyme to season the stuffing.

Dana Scully swallowed the slice of apple she was chewing before answering. "No, Mom, most of the Exodus happened yesterday afternoon and last night." She glared at her partner, who was purloining large pecan pieces from a Tupperware dish on the kitchen table. "Oh, Mulder! We need those for stuffing the turkey!"

He grinned. "But then the turkey stuffs me. Just eliminating the middle-bird, Scully."

Margaret shook her head, reveling in their comfortable banter. Neither of her sons would be joining her this year, both opting to visit their in-laws, so she was preparing a 'Thanksgiving Lite,' as Dana's partner christened it. A ten pound turkey, the last of her garden's vegetables, freshly baked bread, and a small smorgasbord of pies would partially disappear inside the three of them in a few hours. _But first, the letters, Margaret._ She smiled over at her daughter. "Dana?"

Scully placed the knife on the counter, unwilling to chop while looking away from the blade. "Yes, Mom?"

Margaret poked at the sprigs of herbs drying on a towel. "Didn't you bring in some rosemary?"

Scully frowned, checking through the fragrant leaves. "I'm sorry, I guess I didn't." Dana Scully reached into the top drawer by the sink to retrieve a pair of kitchen shears.

Her partner rose, then took them from her, brushing her back with his left hand as he turned to the door. "That's okay, Scully, I'll get some. You and Susan have so carefully explained herbs to me, I promise, no cilantro or spearmint instead."

Dana Scully let him take the scissors, then turned to her mother when the older woman cleared her throat. _Now, Mom?_

_Yes, Dana._

"No, Mulder, let me go. You have to do the turkey, anyhow." She gently lifted the shears out of his palm, called for the Pomeranian, then exited through the screen door in the back of the kitchen.

Margaret approached Mulder, who was lifting the bird off the bottom shelf of the refrigerator. "Fox?" He raised an eyebrow at her inquiry. "Put the turkey down and come with me. I need to show you something."

Her sudden seriousness troubled him. "Are you okay, Mrs. Scully?"

She nodded, leading him through the hallway and into the large living room of her airy home. "Sit, please, Fox." _I wish I didn't have to be so secretive about this, but she did ask._ As he settled on the couch, she dropped a large manila envelope in his lap.

He gasped as air mail letters spilled out onto the cushions. "Are these all from her?"

Margaret nodded once, silent for fear of wiretaps in the ceiling. She patted his shoulder. "Take all the time you want with them, dear. I know she wanted you to see them eventually, but she was afraid any letters to you might be intercepted."

His eyes took on that haunted cast she hated to see. "But they weren't after her, just Scully and me. Do you know where she and Max are?"

Margaret shook her head, holding up one of the blue envelopes. Like the one Scully received in October, it bore no return address, just a European postmark, this one from Paris. They heard the springs on the screen door squeal as Scully let herself in.

"Mom?"

Margaret leaned into the hall. "In here, Dana."

The Pomeranian padded in ahead of her, shaking himself as he walked.

Scully sat beside her partner, who was extracting the letters to stack them in chronological order, oldest on top. Dana looked up at her mother. "I didn't know there were so many, Mom. She must have written you nearly every other day, almost.

Margaret extended her arm towards her daughter. "Let's go, Dana, we have to finish dinner." Mulder began to lay the letters aside. "No, Fox, stay and read. I think we two can handle this ourselves."

He settled back again, thinking how fortunate he was to have a partner like Dana Scully, and a friend like Margaret. _Well, Mulder, your Mother has obviously been happy._

Clipped to the first letter was a photograph of Caroline Mulder, now Lowenberg, and his stepfather, Max, taken in front of the Mozart Monument in the Burggarten in Vienna.

-o-0-o-

"Mom, I can't take it anymore. Let me go to him. He's suffered so much already."

They could both hear an occasional choke or sob from the living room puncturing a steady crinkling as he read the account of his Mother's travels in Eastern Europe.

As she finished wiping the counter after stuffing the turkey, Margaret washed her hands, then addressed her daughter. "No, Dana. This is something he needs to work out on his own. When we hear he's done reading, then I'll go. He needs to not feel like your perpetual responsibility."

Scully opened her mouth to protest _We're both each other's!_ then sighed, thinking that perhaps her mother was right. This wasn't his nightmare about Sam, or herself, but actual good news, from what her Mother told her.

Caroline and Max had located her brother, Isaac, living back in Austria, and the letters were full of pictures of cousins he never knew he had. Caroline's beloved uncle Benjamin was gone in 1976, having passed on in his early eighties. They listened to the papers shuffling, then silence.

Mulder reappeared in the kitchen doorway, his eyes shining, one hand holding the bulging manila envelope, the other a photograph.

Scully took the print to examine it. "Mulder, this could be Sam in her early twenties!"

He nodded, unable to speak.

Margaret checked the image. "Yes, that's Rachel, Isaac's granddaughter. Caroline made the same comment in her letter. She's lovely, Fox."

Mulder turned to his partner's mother, finding himself entwined in her usual tight hug. "Thank you." His jagged voice could be trusted no further, so he stopped.

"It's no problem, dear. Caroline wanted so badly for you to know. I hope she'll feel safe enough to come home, soon." He began to choke again, so Margaret rubbed his shoulder. "If you don't stop, dear, we'll have to baste you along with the turkey."

When she released him, his partner placed the photograph on the table, standing close to catch his downcast eyes. "You were right last night, Mulder, you have found something."

-o-0-o-

Dark Apartment  
Washington, DC  
Thursday, 7:46 pm

Click. _That's one more._ He took a drag, then leaned back, wondering how many of these he had smoked over his life. His apartment was as bare as his office, just whatever was necessary to keep him alive, but no more. He contemplated the unopened half liter of Scotch on the coffee table in front of him. It was to have been his Thanksgiving celebration, but he thought of Bill Mulder's ravaged face as he had last seen him in life, and decided. Tucking the bottle under his arm, he crossed his living room to his kitchen, unscrewed the cap, then poured the contents down the sink. As he tossed the heavy glass in the trash, he heard a satisfying crunch as it shattered.

He remembered the last real liquor he had enjoyed, at Bill and Caroline's wedding. It was just after his one and only dance with the girl from Vienna who intoxicated him so. He had watched them leave, wishing them well. He was toasting their happiness with the other men in the office. He had hoped that eventually, Bill would adore Caroline as he did. But that was never to be, even after the son and daughter were born.

_Such tragedy._ He would continue to protect the son, so the boy could find the daughter, wherever she was, and bring Caroline some peace. Despite the complications it was making for him personally, the old man was relieved she was still alive, with Max Lowenberg, to boot. He lit another Morley, reflecting on the unexpected reappearance of an old adversary. By the time the cylinder had burned down, he had decided that he would continue to protect both Mulders, extending his promise to his old friend.

As he returned to his seat, he noticed a ding in the ceiling of his living room, so he stood on the sofa to investigate. Pulling out his pocketknife, he dug a lozenge out of the plaster. _So, __the old men in Manhattan think so little of my abilities they have resorted to this._ He inspected the other rooms, finding one in his bedroom.

That one worried him. He had been having odd dreams of late, awakening in a cold sweat more often than not these days. If he had been talking in his sleep, then someone would have some explaining to do. He pushed the metal around in his hand, rubbing the dust off as he did. _What's this?_ He dropped one on the bedside table, then blew on the other. _I know who did this._ Opening his window, he craned his head out before he nodded to himself, certain now. This new information required he make two stops at the FBI tomorrow, before setting his new plan in motion.

-o-0-o-

End – Twelfth Night - Harvest


	2. Lights

_=====o==================================o=====_

_Twelfth Night_ by Mary Ruth Keller

Part II - _Lights_

=====o==================================o=====

Annapolis, Maryland  
Thursday, November 28, 1996  
6:11 pm

"If you two think you can behave yourselves, I have some calls to make." Margaret smiled at her daughter and surrogate son from her seat in the leather chair by the window.

Mulder was sprawled opposite her on the couch; Scully had pulled the afghan over herself on the matching two-seater.

He sat up as Margaret stood to head for the coat hooks by the door. "It's okay, Mrs. Scully. You and Scully did most of the cooking. I'll clean."

"Thank you, dear. Oh, Dana, Mrs. Richards would love a visit with you?"

Scully feigned sleep.

Her partner smirked. _Family obligations only run so deep, eh?_

The older woman crossed the hall to gently stroke her daughter's hair. "Actually, Fox, I've cleaned up after bigger Sunday dinners, and you're both as worn out as after that Mexican business. Why don't you take after my truant girl and rest as well?"

Brimming with mischief, he grinned. "No problem, I'll get her up to help."

Unwilling to wait for Mulder's worst, Scully opened one eye. "Say hi to Mrs. Richards for me, Mom." With that, Margaret left, then her daughter pushed the wool cover away. "Okay, Robin Goodfellow, let's get started."

They worked quietly, Mulder observing to himself that having shared so many meals at their respective apartments, some chores proceeded almost automatically. "Scully?"

"Hum?"

"We need to talk." He passed her the wet turkey platter.

She began wiping it down. "So, talk."

He shook his head.

She cocked her head. _Right._ "We'll go for a walk ourselves, okay?"

-o-0-o-

Trotting eagerly ahead of them, the Pomeranian strained at the leash. The path took them along a lazy creek, where the only signs of their passage were bent blades of browned winter grass.

"I'm worried, Scully."

"Oh?"

"Now that my mother has found her family..."

"She won't come back to you?"

He studied the ground as they walked further. _It's not just chores that are automatic, Mulder._

They halted, confronted by a narrow drainage ditch. Jumping over it easily, Mulder reached back to accept the squirming ball of fur Scully passed him. She tried to gauge the depth of the depression, considering whether to step in or leap, then sighed. He gently dropped the dog, who immediately buried his nose in the cattails and mud as his mistress backed up two steps, before, at a jog, hurtling herself over. As Mulder steadied her afterward, Scully could tell from his eyes that fear over his mother's loss struck deeply under his careful nonchalance.

He thrust his hands in his pockets, pushing at the bottom seams with his fingers. "I wouldn't blame her. All I remind her of is a missing daughter and a man who did nothing to help her own relatives."

Angry at his repeated self-loathing, Scully remained in front of him. "Mulder! You have to stop hating yourself for your parent's mistakes! You were a child when Sam was taken, just a little boy." She set her jaw. "It doesn't matter whether your sister was taken by aliens, or twelve men in black suits. There were forces at work so much more powerful than one skinny, overprotective big brother that you didn't have the chance." She shook him by the elbow. "We know that now, more clearly than we ever have."

He snorted, but refused to raise his gaze to meet her eyes.

"Beside, even if you are one of the most irritating men I know, you're one of the gentlest as well. If I have to compliment you until you turn as red as those beets we had for dinner to get you to quit, I will." Turning to catch the end of the leash, Scully dragged the protesting canine out of the tall weeds. "Listen to me. You are the staunchest friend I could ever want. Even at the beginning, when you thought I was a spy, you never treated me like a stupid woman who couldn't understand your theories, just one who wouldn't agree with you. You..."

He stepped away from her, his hands over his face. "Enough, Scully! I get the point." He dropped his hands to look her in the eye. "And thanks. I just want her to come back, and I don't know how to reach her. It's *worse* than Sam, almost."

She raised an eyebrow. "And why is that?" She glanced back at the Pomeranian, who was digging at an empty rabbit's burrow.

He scuffed the grass with his boot. "With Sam, I have some idea who is responsible for her disappearance, and I believe if I look hard enough and long enough, I'll find her. But my Mom is alive and fine, just out of reach, like a reflection. Everyone else can step through the Looking Glass, except me. I'm locked out. What?"

His partner was smiling at him. "I'm glad to hear you talking about this, Mulder. You seem to want to connect with her, when three months ago, you wanted nothing more than to run away." She chewed her lip momentarily. "We'd better get back. Mom should be home by now, and she'll worry, even though we're together."

But Margaret was not there when they returned, so the partners settled on the long sofa, watching the football games.

Wrapped in the afghan's warmth again, Scully's weariness soon set her nodding.

Watching her struggle, Mulder gradually lowered the volume until he was following the game in silence.

One sharp drop of the head, one deep breath, so he knew his partner's fatigue had won.

-o-0-o-

Annapolis, Maryland  
Thursday, 11:17 pm

Margaret turned the key in the lock quietly. Through the glass in the door, she had seen her two children asleep, and wanted to leave them in peace. Using the left arm of the sofa as a pillow, her daughter had curled up in a ball. Her tall partner's chin was on his chest, the hand with the remote having fallen onto the cushions, the other resting limply across her swathed ankles.

His stumpy tail wagging as she slipped in, the Pomeranian gazed up at her, but she wasn't stealthy enough. The partners jerked. Mulder leapt to his feet, reaching for the gun he normally wore on his hip by instinct.

Chagrined when he touched bare cloth and realized whom he would have injured had it been present, he blinked rapidly before siking back onto the couch. "Sorry, Mrs. Scully."

She returned to the chair, patting her lap for the dog, who jumped up and spun around before settling down. "I'm sorry too, Fox. Caroline was worried that you would get in over your heads."

Scully pulled the afghan back over her shoulders, leaning forward to engage her mother's attention. "What does she know, Mom?"

The older woman shook her head. "She never really said that much, just that it was highly classified at the time. I think she missed not being able to work in the fifteen years she waited for you, Fox."

Mulder rubbed his eyes, recalling an earlier conversation. "I know. I just want her to be safe, that's all."

Tucking the dog under her arm, Margaret slid forward out of the chair, bending down to speak with them on eye level. "You both should get more sleep. Speaking as a mother hen, I could have run model trains down the lines in your faces at dinner. Don't argue, Fox. I have a warm comfortable bed for you upstairs, and I expect to find you in it tomorrow morning, late, not down here. So, shoo, both of you."

She chased them upstairs, waving Mulder towards Melissa's room. Scully's room was next door on the left, sharing a bathroom, so after Margaret retired, he knocked on the adjoining door.

Scully twisted the knob so the paneled hardwood would swing on its hinges, then returned to her duffel bag, lying at the foot of the bed. After she picked a pair of jeans off the steamer trunk to give him space to sit next to her, she resumed her unpacking.

Mulder watched her work for a moment. "You've prepared your Mom for the guys?"

She smiled. "Mulder, my Mother somehow managed to raise two boys, Mel, and your truly. She already knows Byers from the spring. I don't think the three of them will fluster her too much. I'm glad we had this day, just the three of us, but they could have come for dinner, you know."

He shook his head. "The Gunmen don't celebrate today, except with 'Wild Turkey' and 'Famous Grouse.'"

As Scully remembered opening her door to an inebriated Frohike during Mulder's disappearance almost a year and a half earlier, she giggled.

Frowning, her partner continued. "They refuse to recognize government mandated holidays, especially Republican ones." She sat at the head of the bed, covering her mouth with the red sweater she was transferring at the moment, her shoulders shaking.

"What?"

"Do they refuse to use pennies and five dollar bills as well?"

He regarded her solemnly.

"They do?" She started laughing outright. "This is rich, Mulder. And here I thought you were paranoid."

"Scully!" For rhetorical effect, he placed his hand on his chest. "This is a matter of principle, not paranoia."

She flopped over on her back, propped up by the pillows, peals of hilarity resonating in the small room.

Margaret thrust open the painted door from the hall. "Fox Mulder, what are you doing to my...Oh."

He had turned to face the older woman, a cherubic look of innocence glowing from his features.

Scully sat up, rolling her eyes. "It's okay, Mom. Mulder was just filling me in on the Lone Gunmen's reservations about Republican holidays."

The older woman walked off, shaking her head.

When he heard the latch of her door engage, he leaned towards her. "I know what will keep me in bed, late, Scully, or should I say, *who*."

She zipped the empty bag shut before carrying it to the closet. As she returned to the bed, she prepared and discarded several comebacks, finally settling on the one she thought would be most effective. She bent over until they were nose to nose, her hands on her hips, letting him anticipate her response. "I do too, Mulder, but I know how much you hate needles."

He grimaced.

"So, a good strong cup of hawthorn tea for you, coming right up." She wiggled a small white packet under his nose.

He began to back out of the room. "Enough. You and Susan have to finish that paper soon, so you'll stop picking up all those herbal remedies from her. I've never drunk so much strange stuff with you in the past four and a half years as I have this last month."

"Good night, Mulder."

His response was delivered to the oak. "Good night, Scully."

-o-0-o-

Flat #2  
Walford, London  
Thursday, 11:30 pm

Phoebe shifted her weight in the bed, adjusting her shoulders in Eric's arms.

He lifted the hand resting on his stomach to kiss the palm. "Glad to be home from the USA?"

Her head slid back and forth on his bare chest, her pale face contrasting with his dark, rich tones. "Home to you and wonderful, foggy, wet London. Massachusetts is a miserable place. Nothing is green and it's so cold and windy."

He turned his head to focus on her. "Oh, I wondered why a simple meeting would take three weeks."

She squeezed his chest with her free arm. "It was all a background check. I missed my flight at National that first day, so I hopped a shuttle to Boston and made my way to Chilmark. I wanted to review the local records on Caroline Mulder. What I found took me back to DC, and I had to use all the power of Scotland Yard to get access to some fifty year old files. The British Embassy tried to block me with a story about National Security, but I eventually worked around them, too."

He rolled out from under her to prop himself up on one elbow. "You went by his house?"

She settled on her back, running her hand along his arm. "I couldn't. It had been blown up under mysterious circumstances in September, as was his Father's place. He'd irritated the hell out of some bigshot, no doubt."

She sat up, pulling the down comforter over her legs. "He wants me to find Caroline for him. She knows things from the Second World War, Eric. She worked on a highly classified project for the US government then, that I can't tell you about."

He held up his hand. "Then don't, Luv. Did I tell you I may have a buyer for 'Artist and Muse'?"

Her shoulders slumped.

"No, Sweet, let's not start this tonight."

"But Eric, I'll buy it from you. It means so much to me."

He shook his head. "When we get married, I'll paint you a better one as a gift."

"Who is this buyer, anyway? I'll call him and offer to double the price if he'll sell it to me."

He brightened. "Would you, Phoebe? That would make it so much more valuable. Have to know how to play the game. He wasn't at the show, in fact he came by just three days ago, so he wouldn't know you were connected with me."

She closed her hand over his. "Eric! I don't want you to sell it. Who is he, anyway?"

He frowned. "No one I've ever met before. He said he was from America, but he had a slight upper class accent. He was very protective of his hands and kept having his assistant open doors for him. He said he wanted it for his office in New York." He lifted a card off the bedside table. "Here, this is his name."

Phoebe took the paper and slipped it in her case. "I'll check him out tomorrow. I have a meeting with CI Williams to lay out an itinerary for tracking Caroline." She slid over to him, not wanting to tell him so soon, but not wanting to hold anything back, either. "I'll be gone much of the time between now and Christmas, Eric. She's probably in Vienna, or was. That's where she was born and grew up, and she had family there, too."

"But you'll stop by periodically to see how my next masterpiece is coming along?"

She pulled him down on top of her. "As often as I can, my Heart. Count on it."

He stroked her face. "I will, I will."

-o-0-o-

J. Edgar Hoover Building  
Washington, DC  
Friday, November 29, 1996  
7:30 am

"Enter." Walter Skinner rose slowly as the old man crossed the carpet to the chairs in front of his desk. The AD's first instinct was to whip out his gun, but he slapped it down. The next impulse was to hide the coaster that he knew would be appropriated for an ashtray, but the one time he had done that, the man had used the floor. The accumulated ash and butts had saturated the rug with their noxious stench so thoroughly he had been forced to replace it at his own expense. He settled for glowering at the grey-suited figure, as he waited for the inevitable lecture.

"I thought you were told to warn Mulder and Scully off the Sharpsburg problem." The hand with the burning weed waved. "For their own good, of course."

Skinner leaned forward, deepening his voice well below its usual bass timbre. "They were. Thanks to the inefficiency of the People's own, I have a pair of walking zombies for agents. They've driven, in essence, from DC to San Francisco and back, twice, chasing a killer who may or may not exist. They haven't had the time or opportunity to interfere in your internal problems."

The lined face exhaled a curling plume of grey smoke. "Are you sure about that, Walter? I have evidence of illegal access to private surveillance and secret documents by known associates of your *zombies*. Just because they didn't do the dirty work, doesn't mean they weren't the instigators behind it all, and won't get them off the hook when the time comes for heads to roll."

Skinner stood to lean over the desk, whispering to contain his rage. "And what about you? I still have a phone number on my speed dial that rings New Mexico."

The stream was directed in his face. "Don't scare me with stories of old men. All we have to do is arrange for a little accident and you won't be able to place that call. Or didn't you think about that, Walter? As long as Assistant Director Skinner is alive and well, so are your bothersome agents. But without you..." He shrugged, as Skinner gritted his teeth, refusing to give the shadowy figure the pleasure of a cough.

The Assistant Director's voice was hoarse when he replied. "No, you don't get it. It's not just the FBI you have to coerce anymore. If something were to happen to me, the Senate would get involved, and not the Senate you had bought and paid for, either. The People's Representatives may not be able to pass a budget, but they know what makes for great television. To expose a multi-decade clandestine operation that had an unlimited expense account would be a spectacle like none before." He leaned back to take a deep breath of the relatively cleaner air behind his desk, watching the coldness settle behind the eyes of his adversary.

"Let them come, Walter. We have been saving the secrets for many, many years. Let the American People know who had been on their side all this time, and who has kept the world 'Safe for Democracy'."

Skinner growled. "Then why haven't you gone public already?"

The old man stood. "Just keep Mulder and Scully out of something that isn't their business, and the status quo stays right the way it is. Good day, *Assistant* Director Skinner." He vanished through the side door.

Walter Skinner ran his hands over his bald head. _Just what was going on here?_ He punched the call button for Gloria, replacing the receiver before the first ring. She was at her son's, visiting her first grandchild.

_Well, Walter, get it yourself. You have two good legs._ He found the latest travel request for the X-files agents on her desk, stamped 'CANCELED'. Instead, they had submitted leave slips for the today and Monday. _They need it._ Whatever this homeless case was, it was far more effort than it was worth. If he had known of anything else to keep them occupied, he would have pulled them three weeks ago to reassign them.

-o-0-o-

Annapolis, MD  
Friday, 10:30 am

"Hey, wake up, Luke Skywalker, they're he-re!" Scully bounced the mattress, jostling her partner and smiling at his groan. Her mother had shaken her gently less than an hour before, barely giving her time to shower and dress before the Gunmen had banged on the front door.

The three were downstairs with Margaret, who had rejected repeated requests for her daughter's hand from Frohike before Scully had escaped upstairs.

Mulder whacked at her with a pillow before rolling back over. "Don't want to get up. My head hurts."

She tugged the covers off. "You have to get up, Zeppo. Groucho, Harpo, and Chico are downstairs. They can't start the show without you."

No response.

"Mulder! Frohike is downstairs with my Mother. Think about it! You have to save me from having him for a stepfather!"

He twitched, finally awake. "What, no coffee? I bring you coffee. I'll bet you haven't drawn my bath either." Mulder rolled over, pulling himself up as he forced both eyes open. "What time is it, Scully?" She regarded him levelly and responded, eliciting a look of confusion from her partner. "I haven't slept this long since February. They're here already?"

She nodded, lifting a mug off the end table to hold out to him.

He smirked, drank it down in one long draught, then gave it back. "Two more and I may be human."

She leaned over him. "Downstairs." Before she turned to leave, she rested her hand on his shoulder. "You okay, Mulder? You usually only sleep four hours a night and catnap in meetings."

He frowned. "I guess so. All the travel must have been tougher than I thought." He pushed himself to his feet. "I'll grab a quick shower and get down there. If Frohike marries your mother, I'd be his surrogate son, too."

"Then he could take your videotapes, claiming it was for your own good." She ducked, avoiding the pillow, swung for real.

"Yeah, right. See you in a bit." The bathroom door closed.

-o-0-o-

The Victorian mansion was crisscrossed with wires and cables when the tall agent, showered and shaved, finally picked his way to the first floor. Margaret Scully's facial expression alternated between horror at the tapping and banging, or delight at the antics she was witnessing. Her daughter was bent over a computer, running various detection algorithms while arguing with Langly over triangulation locations. Frohike was standing on tiptoe on a rickety wooden ladder, waving an antenna over the fireplace. Byers was inside the flue, calling out microwave frequencies, waiting for a response from Scully, either "Clear!" or "Up!" or "Down!".

Margaret turned to him. "Good morning, Fox."

The Gunmen echoed her, ribbing him with an emphasis on the forbidden name.

Scully jumped. "Go back, Byers, back to 937.67 MHz. That's right. Now watch this, Langly." She typed a command, the screen blanked, and a full-scale plot of a steep spike materialized. "There's one in there, all right. It's been transmitting on this frequency using an encoded pulsed signal." She glanced up at Mulder, who was standing over them. _Our precautions had not been in vain._

He walked over to the fireplace. "Byers, can you tell if it is audio only, or is there a video detector present?"

The normally precisely placed hair and beard were smudged with dust as he ducked under the mantlepiece. "No video signal, Mulder. Just this." He held out a tiny microphone to Langly.

The blond Gunman inspected it closely under a hand lens. "Oh! These are new! When we get back to the office, I'll take this apart under a microscope."

Scully turned to her Mother, who had covered her mouth with both hands, to hug her. "Don't worry, Mom. We'll find the others."

Mulder stood beside them. "Do you have any idea when these could have been installed? When was the last time you left here for more than a just a few hours?"

Margaret shook her head before responding. "I haven't, Fox. Just a trip to Potomac Mills at Labor Day before you and Dana got back from Mexico. Could they have done this then?"

Rubbing her Mother's back, Scully stared at her partner. "We don't know, Mom. I need to talk to Mulder, outside."

The agents left Margaret and the Gunmen, slipping as far away from the house as they could.

"Scully, there could be more. We have to keep on searching."

Still concerned about wiretaps, she leaned close to him. "I know. That couldn't have been in place before we returned. Mom didn't see anyone strange, and the dog would have raised an alarm."

"Okay, so they've been waiting and installing one or two at a time when she steps out for groceries." He ran his hand through his hair. "What does my Mother know that is so important?"

-o-0-o-

Flat #2  
Walford, London  
Friday, 6:30 pm

"That my girl?" Eric put down the brush and palette when he heard the key in the lock. The heavy mahogany banged against the stops, then he heard the thump of something heavy hitting the floor. "Phoebe?" He ran into the main room, not seeing her at first. A soft whimper had him crossing the space to close the door. "Oh, Luv, what did they do to you?"

She was sprawled out on the rug, her coat torn down the back. "Eric? Are you here?"

He threw the deadbolt latch, then knelt beside her. As he turned her over, he saw bruises darkening on her face, blood on her hands.

"Eric?"

He held her close, crooning to her. "I'm here, Sweet, what happened? Who did this to you?"

Struggling to sit up, she lifted a hand to his shoulder. "Don't know."

Not wanting to leave her, he stroked her hair. "Where's you case?"

"They took it, Eric. It has something to do with that man who wants to buy 'Artist and Muse'. It was empty, except for a photo of him I wanted you to identify for me, and I was attacked in the car park by three men." She swallowed, shaking her head. "I got one of them in the face, but the other two were too strong, and they took it."

He picked her up, carried her into the bedroom, then laid her gently on the comforter. "We'll talk about it in a little bit, Luv. Do you want me to take you to Hospital?"

She sat up on the bed. "No, I'll be all right. I just ache and I think I sprained my wrist struggling to hold on to the briefcase."

He gingerly began to undress her. "Are you sure? All this blood came from somewhere."

She nodded, trying to smile. "You should see the other guy."

He slipped off her blouse, then began rubbing her swollen arm. "I should call the Yard, have them come out here to take a statement, right, Luv?"

She shook her head. "This would only get buried. I think I know why this guy is so important, and how he connects with Caroline, but I need to find her and talk to her. I have to know what she knows. Her life may depend on it." Fully undressed, she slipped under the covers, letting herself be pampered for the rest of the evening.

-o-0-o-

Annapolis, MD  
Sunday, December 1, 1996  
10:45 am

Langly dropped a box on the kitchen table. "That's it, guys, that's the last of them."

Once they realized every room, including the bathrooms, had probably been tapped, the Gunmen and the Agents had worked round the clock to locate them all. The wiretap microphones were each lying on cotton in individually capped cylinders, lined up in a small container. The box was open on the kitchen table, while six heads bent over the fourteen cylinders.

Mulder scanned the Gunmen's faces. "Can you tell us when they were planted in the house?"

Langly pulled an electronics catalog out of one of the bags, flipped it open, then tapped a photograph of a chip. "All within the past month or so, G-man. The components are that new, *really*. I've seen them advertised in trade magazines, but not as parts of complete systems. Whoever is interested in these lovely quarters won't do with anything less than the finest. Your Shadow friends, perhaps?"

Scully shrugged. "Or the art dealers. They have the money to buy the technology and the expertise to build it." She pushed her hair behind her ear. "But I don't understand why they are so interested in my Mom's house. Mrs. Mulder can only have known about what she worked on before she married her husband, and we know all that. Further, thanks to the net, *everyone* knows all that."

"Do we, Scully?" Mulder stared down at her. "I'm beginning to think my Mom knows much more than she will ever be willing to tell, but unless we get some information from her, it may kill her, and Max."

Margaret excused herself abruptly, so her daughter followed.

Mulder turned to the Gunmen. "Thanks, guys. I think Mrs. Scully will sleep better tonight."

Frohike stepped up to the tall agent. "We're splitting, Mulder. We want to get back before the traffic gets too bad, and we'll dissect these monsters for you. Besides, we wouldn't want to keep you from the delectable Agent Dana and her equally wonderful mother for too long." He doffed his cap to the two Scully women on the sofa as they passed through the hall. "My offer still stands, Mrs. Scully."

Margaret rose to thank them, rubbing her face as she waved.

After they left, Mulder sat on the left end of the couch. "Mrs. Scully? Do you think you can talk about this?" He touched her arm. "We weren't planning on leaving tonight, you know."

Margaret looked from one worried face to the other. "So you will stay through tomorrow?" She watched them nod. "Okay, I think I'd like to have a little quiet. It's hard to think that people have been in and out while you were away for such a short period of time as a trip to the corner market, and managed to put your most private moments on tape. Excuse me, dears." She returned to the kitchen, where they heard water running into a tea kettle.

He sagged against the back of the sofa as a deep, hoarse cough escaped him.

Scully cautioned, "Mulder, you've been hacking like that since last night. There's no telling what we might have been exposed to in those shelters, and with as little sleep as we've had these past few weeks, both our immune systems are probably suppressed."

He waved his hand at her. "I'll be okay, Scully. It's probably just the dust from crawling around in the rafters. Besides, if I come down with something, you and Sue will use me as a guinea pig for one of your cures." He looked over. "What is odd is the placement of the bugs. It's as if someone had to have plans for this place, to know exactly where the taps could be installed for maximum concealment with the minimum amount of work. We didn't have to drill into any plaster, but without all the twenty-first century gear, we never would have detected them by visual inspection alone."

In spite of his objections, his partner felt his forehead, finding his temperature normal. "Mulder, the layout of the house would be easy to obtain. My father had the back extended for the modern kitchen about ten years ago. The city planning commission required detailed blueprints of the entire structure before it would approve changes to an historic home."

"Right. Those plans are a matter of public record. So anyone could come in and take a look, even make copies, and no one would be the wiser." He yawned. "You'll probably think I'm ill for real, Scully, but I don't want to get back to work so soon. We can't investigate the homeless case without travel funds, and I couldn't face a week of paperwork if I had to."

Scully stretched her arms over her head, her sweater gaping at the waist. "I know how you feel. We've slept all of four hours since Friday morning, but at least I think the house has been swept clean. We could call in to take a few more days off. The Bureau is encouraging Agents to take leave, we have the time, and it would help my Mom to have someone here until she gets over the shock." After rising, she walked over to sit on the arm of the sofa by him. "Besides, you were waiting to buy new fish until we got back anyway."

He grinned. "Yeah, Scully, the old ones took a look at that pink alligator of your brother's and went belly up. So, how early do we get up to call Skinner?"

It was her turn to look mischievous. "We don't. We use the voice mail, so we don't have to argue with him, and call now, before we feel guilty and change our minds."

-o-0-o-

Podowitz Residence  
Vienna, Austria  
Monday, December 2, 1996  
8:47 am

"Guten Morgen."

As the door opened, Phoebe started at the family resemblance. "Mister Isaac Podhowitz?"

White hair fell over his face, so he shoved it aside impatiently. "Yes, and you are?"

She held up her ID. "Inspector Phoebe Green, Scotland Yard. I'd like to ask you a few questions, if I may." She saw the old fear pass over his eyes, a distant memory of a dark time, so she wanted to apologize. "Please, Sir. I'm a friend of your nephew's from Oxford, and I need to find your sister, soon."

He stepped back, gesturing her in.

She followed him towards his sitting room, observing the family photos on the walls, some being daguerreotypes from the mid Nineteenth Century.

He turned, aware of her interest. "How much do you know about my family, Inspector Green?"

She smiled. "Well, Mulder never said much at University, but I've been reading. You survived Dachau, Sir, and brought your uncle back to this house that was originally his. It had been used as a barracks during the war, am I right?"

He closed his eyes. "By *them*, yes, my dear. Daniel buried all these treasures to keep them safe before he escaped, after we were taken." He focused on her. "But you didn't come here to listen to an old man's memories. How can I help my sister?"

She started again. _The tone of voice, the phrases, they were all him._ When Isaac lowered himself into an overstuffed chair, Phoebe took the sofa. "I think she may know something about the War, Sir, and suddenly it's become very significant to the wrong people. Has anyone else asked about her besides myself?" He shook his head, so she continued, "This is very important, Sir. Have you seen anyone waiting around the house, anyone just watching?" The shadow passed again, making Phoebe cringe inside. "Sir, I don't mean to..."

"Recall old nightmares? You haven't, my dear. But they never go away. One can be in a park on Midsummer's Day, hearing the chattering of tree finches, and suddenly, it is as if one was still there." He shook himself, banishing the images to the back of his mind. "No, I haven't."

"Also, Sir, do you know where she was going next?"

He considered her question. "I think, yes, I'm sure of it, Paris. She wanted to visit the Louvre again. Our parents took us, when we were small, and I am too old to travel much. But Caroline was always the adventurer. I'm glad she can still do these things." He raised an eyebrow. "You look extremely uncomfortable, Inspector. May I get you some tea or coffee?"

She shook her head. "No, Sir, thank you. It's just that...well, you look and act so much like what I think Mulder would at your age, that I almost expect him to appear."

He laughed, the hair slipping in his eyes again. "Family is a wonderful thing. I would love to visit with this nephew I've never met. He was a good scholar at Oxford, Caroline tells me. Took a First?"

She nodded. "He has a mind like a steel trap and picks up on things faster than a cat. We were close for a while."

"Forgive an old man's impertinence, my dear, but you didn't part on the best of terms, did you?"

Her mind wandered back to the circumstances surrounding the end of their relationship. "No, Sir, we didn't. I hurt him very badly, I'm afraid, through extreme foolishness."

He stood. "Are you certain about the tea? We old folks do love company."

She got to her feet, resigned. "No, Mister Podhowitz, as much as I'd love to chat, I have to find your sister."

He escorted her to the door, patting her shoulder before opening it. "You should be more careful, Inspector Green. I can deduce from your limp that you've had an unfortunate encounter with stalkers yourself not too long ago."

Her jaw dropped. _I thought no one could tell!_ "Thank you, Sir, I will be. I have someone worrying about me back in London, and if anything happened, well..."

"He'd come after you with all the speed love allows. Good day, my dear."

-o-0-o-

Annapolis, Maryland  
Monday, 11:45 pm

Margaret Scully sat up with a jerk. The Pomeranian, excited and yipping, was padding around on the bed. She smiled, hearing the sound of quiet conversation float up the stairs. _It's good to have someone here. The house is too large and empty otherwise._ As she slipped into her robe and opened the door, she saw her daughter bobbing down the stairs, her latest nonfiction tome in hand. Scully turned back when she heard her mother's door creak. "Oh, sorry, Mom. Mulder was having trouble sleeping upstairs, so he woke me-" She rolled her eyes. "-to come watch the Sci-Fi channel with him. You want to see 'The Beginning of the End?' or 'Mothra' with us?"

Margaret shook her head. "I'd like some tea, though." The women descended together, the Pomeranian bumping down ahead of them. Margaret patted Mulder's shoulder, having heard him coughing from across the hall. _That's more than just dust, Fox._

Scully settled on the two-seater again, pushing her partner in the back gently, then turned the table lamp on.

He tipped his head to speak with Margaret as she stood behind him. "Don't worry about the microwave, I have some popcorn going in there."

Margaret smiled as the popping slowed, then he was on his feet, walking beside her into the kitchen. Standing in the semi-darkness, she felt him touch her arm, with that glancing, hesitant contact he used to catch someone's attention.

Margaret forced herself to wait, to let him take the initiative.

"Mrs. Scully?"

"Yes, Fox?"

He stepped closer. "Thanks for asking me here for Thanksgiving. I've really, well, for my Mom, I..."

She grasped his wrist, then hugged him. As usual, he withdrew into his confused boy-self as she held him, slowly returning the embrace, almost as if he expected a reprimand to follow.

Margaret's heart went out to him. _He must have been starved for affection as a child._ "Thank you for coming, Fox. You and Dana are such good company..." Her eyes were drawn to lights moving in the woods behind the house. "That's strange. The Harrises are in Pennsylvania this weekend. Who would be out there at this time of night?"

It was not a self-effacing boy, but the FBI agent, who called urgently for his partner. The two bounded up the stairs, only to return seconds later, shod and armed, pulling their jackets on.

Mulder grasped Margaret's arm again, but the contact was authoritative, commanding. "Stay inside, Mrs. Scully, and keep the doors locked until we give the all clear, okay?" Then they were out the door.

The agents separated immediately, each moving towards the closest of the lights to their left and right. Scully slipped into the open bed of her mother's pick-up truck, crouching under the level of the sides, waiting.

As the footfalls halted by the truck, she pointed her gun at the light. "Federal Agent, freeze!" She heard a gunshot, ducked, then pointed the weapon out again, directly into another government issue barrel.

A similar command sounded in the dark. "Federal Agent, so let's see some ID!"

Scully shook her head, holding her gun level and cocked, uncertain as to the gender of the agent at the back end of the weapon. "I'll show you mine at the same time I see yours."

The other gun rotated slowly until it pointed at the ground, then an arm in black lowered it to the floor of the truck bed as Scully holstered her own.

A round camouflaged face moved forward into the dim light, a U.S. Customs photo badge beside it.

Scully was displaying her own ID, so the two women (the bulges under the close fitting black sweater were obvious) extended their hands, introducing themselves as Agent Scully and Agent Collins.

Scully checked back over her shoulder in the direction of the gunfire and sighed. "I take it my partner is out there tracking your partner?"

Collins grinned. "A guy?"

Scully nodded. "Let's go pick up the pieces, shall we?"

The women crept together towards the other source of illumination, each rolling their eyes when they saw the flashlight lying on the ground.

The FBI agent noticed her counterpart's identical action, so smiled. "You have the opportunity to patch him up often?"

"Every chance he gets."

"Doctor?"

Collins shrugged. "Mom was a nurse. I practiced some as a kid, more since becoming an agent. You?"

"Pathologist."

"He has a weak stomach, right?"

"Mm-hum." As they moved along, following a trail of broken and flattened grass, Scully felt the need to defend her partner. "Make no mistake, Mulder's a good friend."

"Same here."

"Bright, well-educated..."

"Mm-hum."

"Thoughtful, great insights..."

"Yeah."

Scully pointed. "There!"

The male agents were wrestling on the frozen ground, so the women spoke to their partners in remarkably parallel phrases. "Mulder/ Lomas, stop, they're Customs/ FBI."

The men pushed each other apart, reaching for their guns again.

The women passed a 'you must be kidding' look between them. "Mulder/ Lomas, where is your ID?"

The weapons lowered. "In my room/ Lost."

Mulder sat back down, rubbing his jaw where the Customs Agent had landed a firm punch. Scully crawled over to him, probing it.

"Ow!" He doubled over, hacking.

She shook her head. "Keep that up, Mulder, and you'll break something." She could hear Collins fussing about this being the third badge Lomas had lost in a night fight this year. "Agent Collins?"

"Yes, Agent Scully?"

"My mother's house is right here. Do you want to call yourselves in from there?"

"Sure."

Mulder shivered as she helped him stand. "Why is Customs interested in your Mother's house?"

Lomas responded. "Stolen Art."

Scully snorted in surprise. "Not unless there's a black market in first grade finger paintings."

The Customs agents stared back. "We have information that a stolen Jan Steen would appear here in a few days."

Now it was the FBI agents' turn to stare at each other. _Sharpsburg?_

-o-0-o-

Margaret Scully sat at the kitchen counter, watching her daughter, enjoying the consummately professional side of Dana she rarely saw. The four agents were drinking coffee and exchanging information, colleague to colleague.

She knew, finally knew, that this was what made Dana happiest, not that it was second best because no one had asked her to marry him, nor because she would never have children, but because she found it challenging and exhilarating.

Mulder too, had been different, the energy focused, directed, in his Hunter mode, as Dana called it. But at present, the Hunter was expounding one of his government conspiracy theories to the male agent.

The woman from Customs was whispering in her daughter's ear. "Is he always like this?"

"Wait until he starts on the aliens."

"We don't have all night!"

Nodding, Scully touched her partner's arm. "Mulder, stop."

He paused, then launched into the rest of his sentence.

She gripped his arm firmly. "Mulder."

The growl snapped his mouth shut, sharing one silent look of exasperation with his Customs counterpart.

Lomas turned to Collins, who was combing through her perfectly curled pageboy with her fingers. He grinned. "I could come to like these two, the red-head especially." Lomas pointed at Mulder. "You want Steve Reeves here?"

The women groaned.

Mulder leaned towards Collins, his eyes alight with mischief. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Peel."

Scully pushed aside the thought of expanding the bruise on his chin. _Down to business, maybe?_ "So it was Scotland Yard who tipped you off?"

Collins nodded. "Inspector McCombs was contacted by Israeli intelligence last month, and he contacted Lomas. We've been tracking the Steen since then."

Pouring himself more coffee, Mulder responded as he refilled the mug Scully had slid in front of him. "It belonged to Max Lowenberg before it was donated to the museum. I had access to some surveillance photos of it as it was removed from a bank vault in Sharpsburg. Where did it go after that?"

The Customs agents glanced at each other.

Lomas queried. "How did you know about it?"

Scully sipped the coffee. "We were told not to look into it, so we had a group of outside experts perform a preliminary investigation, and they found the photos."

Mulder set the coffee pot on the trivet. He felt these two were trustworthy, despite his usual paranoia. "I have them upstairs. I'll be right back."

Scully shifted in her chair to address her mother. "Mom, you don't have to stay up with us, you know. I'm afraid we'll only be talking shop for the next few hours."

Lomas rose from his seat to extend his hand towards the older woman. "We have even less time than that to take advantage of your hospitality, unfortunately. When Mulder returns, we'll have to leave to rejoin the rest of the search team. There is another group sweeping a wooded area two miles north of here." He turned as he heard someone bounding down the stairs.

Mulder held out the pages. "Here."

The four agents discussed the Gunmen's findings, Collins jotting the addresses of the three suspects in her notebook before they left. "This will save us weeks of legwork, Thanks." She shook Scully's hand. "Good luck with him."

"Same to you."

Margaret took the opportunity to wish them goodnight.

Her partner was wired. "So, Scully, there is something important happening in Sharpsburg after all." He was bouncing around the room.

She reached out to steady him, knowing that once the adrenaline wore off he would feel the full brunt of his symptoms. "Mulder! Sit."

He rolled his eyes, sinking down on the sofa sulkily. _Lighten up, Scully. It's only a cold, and it won't kill me._

Scully flew up the stairs, reappearing with three pillows and two blankets. She dropped one pillow on the two-seater, and stacked two pillows on the end of the sofa.

Mulder studied the inviting bolsters. _Oh, well, if she insists._ He slid against them, allowing himself the forbidden pleasure of being pampered as she adjusted the cushions, then tucked the blankets in around him.

Finished, she settled down herself. "Mulder?"

He lifted his head off the sofa back to focus in her general direction, suddenly feeling achy and stiff. "Hum?"

"You sure you don't need anything?"

He smirked. "You forgot my good night kiss, Mom."

Scully tossed her head. "See you in the morning, partner." She cast the room into darkness with a click.

-o-0-o-

Annapolis, MD  
Tuesday, December 3, 1996  
7:45 am

Mulder put the remote down. While he had been channel surfing, a name on the local Baltimore news had caught his attention. Having found the long sofa almost as comfortable as his futon on previous visits, he had slept soundly, awakening once to check that Scully was still close by on the two-seater.

Increasing the volume, he reached over to shake her by shoulder.

The announcer continued. "Doctor Nora Samuelson was found strangled in her office late last night. A senior physician at the Johns Hopkins Hospital, she was working with the homeless to test anti-hallucinogenic drugs for their rehabilitation. We now take you to the scene."

Mulder listened carefully, remembering Nora from Chiapas, as well as from Susan Miles' discussions.

Scully awoke slowly after his touch, thinking she could check on her partner while he slept. She knew he was concealing his illness, and wanted to respect his privacy, but her medical judgment warned her that he had to be monitored. _Oh, no. He's awake._ "Mulder? You're up?"

He pointed to the television screen. "Scully, check this out."

Absorbing the new information, she sat upright. "Poor Sue. I'll have to call her. When did this happen?"

After he filled her in, he paused. "I'm afraid our homeless case just assumed new visibility." She chewed her lip while she listened to him theorize. "It's seems we may have an escalating serial killer on our hands after all, not just random disappearances, despite the lack of data from BS."

Scully stood behind her partner to rest both forearms on the sofa back, touching his shoulder to draw his attention to her. _He's going to fight me on this, I know it._ "Mulder, when we get back to the Bureau, I want you to stop by the infirmary and have a TB test done."

He frowned. "What? I thought that was wiped out years ago."

She shrugged, trying to keep the conversation low-key. "No, unfortunately, it wasn't. A new drug-resistant strain is working through the immigrant population, and you may have been exposed to it in one of the shelters."

He pursed his lips. "Scully, I don't need you to play doctor with me constantly. I *can* take care of myself, you know."

She ducked her head to conceal her grin. _Opening a Semi could drive through, partner._ "No playing doctor? Or did I just appropriate one of your best lines?"

He groaned, then the cough he was suppressing shook its way out of him. "Okay, just to please you, I'll go. But, if I'm exposed, shouldn't you be showing symptoms as well?"

She shrugged. "Well, maybe ... unless ..." _Perhaps, just perhaps._ "I know we've more or less abandoned the idea, but you are the right age and race ..."

Syncing with her thoughts, he stood up, excited. "Yes, I see. I may have inadvertently become a test subject. How can we find out?"

Scully considered. "Let's go visit Susan. She has the facilities to test for anything strange in your blood or tissue."

He grimaced. "You'll get to stick needles in me yet, Doctor Scully."

The protest was delivered to his partner's back as she headed up the stairs to shower and change.

-o-0-o-

William Donald Schaeffer Youth House  
Baltimore, MD  
Tuesday, 8:30 am

"Johnny, would you stop washing dishes and come sit down, please?" Elizabeth Williams patted the blond boy's shoulder.

He dried his hands before he followed the diminutive white-haired woman. "What is it, Miss Williams?"

She hated to tell him, so she softened the blow with praise first. _He's such an honest child. It's hard to think he was on the street for two years._ "You've adjusted well to living with the other boys here, and you keep your room clean better than all the rest. How do you like school?"

He grinned. "School is great! I got through three chapters in the trigonometry book yesterday. I like working at my own pace and not waiting for the others. But what's wrong, Miss Williams?" He had correctly read the concern on her face.

"I'm sorry to have to give you such bad news, but something happened to Doctor Samuelson last night."

He shrank into the chair, his eyes wide. "She's dead, isn't she?"

Elizabeth nodded. "Unfortunately, yes."

The quiet confidence slipped out of the boy like air out of a balloon. "How did it happen? Did she hurt?"

Elizabeth blanched, incapable of answering the boy.

"She did, didn't she?" He started rocking in his seat, sobbing into his fists. _My medicine! What do I do now?_

He let his new friend hold him for a while, she being unable to find words to comfort him for his loss.

-o-0-o-

The Johns Hopkins Hospital  
Baltimore, MD  
Tuesday, 10:30 am

"Sue, I'm so sorry."

The classmates embraced while Mulder looked on.

Susan Miles sighed. "Nora was a good friend. She had been a nurse originally, then had worked her way through Medical School. Do you have any idea who might have done this terrible thing?"

The partners exchanged a glance before the tall agent replied. "We may, Sue. My condolences as well - Hump!"

The woman had pulled him into a tight hug like Margaret's.

Scully smirked behind her hand. _Susan, Susan, what a surprise!_

Doctor Miles released him as he began to cough, listening to the hoarse bark with her clinician's ears. "This sounds familiar, Dana. Mulder, have a seat and roll up your sleeve."

He gritted his teeth. _More probing. Just what I need._

Wax paper crinkled, then Susan pressed a tiny rectangular prism into the Agent's arm.

He stared at the parallel rows of dots. "That's the TB test?"

The blonde doctor reached into a deep drawer. "Yes. Come back in two days if the marks haven't faded. Now I'd like to get a throat culture. Open wide."

As Mulder complied reluctantly, Scully's curiosity drove her. "Sue, you said this sounds familiar. Where have you seen it before? In the shelters?"

Preparing a hypo to draw blood, she nodded. "It's most common in the DC shelters, but cases are showing up to the North as more homeless come in from the cold."

"What is it?" Mulder's squeak as the steel tip approached his tourniquet-enclosed arm amused both doctors.

Susan rubbed his arm above the point of entry to distract him. "The virus is new. I would describe it as an advanced retrovirus that masquerades as TB unless one checks carefully, hence the blood and tissue samples."

The needle withdrawn, Mulder resumed his investigator mode. "How advanced?" He glanced at his partner. "Do you recognize the DNA?"

Sue regarded him. "Is it like AIDS, you mean? No."

Both agents shook their heads. Mulder was excited, but the deep breath he intended to use for speech was expelled in a fit of furious coughing.

Scully laid her hand on his arm. "No, I'm sure Mulder is thinking about..."

"Aliens." They spoke simultaneously.

Sue chuckled. _Always with the alien theories._ "Sorry, the DNA has all been cataloged, just rearranged. You've heard of designer drugs?" She watched both nod. "Well, this is a specifically targeted virus. In a healthy person, it basically knocks you out for a week. First the cough, then three days of fever and nausea before finally abating." She transferred Mulder's blood to a test tube, scribbled on a label, then affixed it to the cylinder. "You won't feel like getting out of bed for two days after that."

Since Mulder was hacking again, Scully took up the questioning. "You said specifically targeted. How do you mean?"

Sue poured a vial of green liquid into a specimen cup then handed it to Mulder. "Well, it seems to almost exclusively affect men his age, rather than women or children or the elderly. We think it may be triggered by male hormones, but we aren't sure of the mechanism."

Scully considered this for a moment. "Male hormones?"

Sue waved at the untouched cup in Mulder's hand. "That's one of the Chiapas drugs. I'll send you home with a week's supply. Oh, it's safe, very much so. And although it won't touch the virus, it will keep you from picking up anything else. You see, I know you two. You'll be investigating Nora's death since it relates to your case, regardless of how bad you feel, and this provides a modicum of protection, so drink up."

He drained the cup, a grunt of genuine surprise escaping him when he finished. "Either I'm becoming inured to these herbal flavors, or this actually doesn't taste too bad."

Scully smiled. "It's women's medicine, Mulder, remember? Mothers have to get it inside their kids, so it can't taste horrible."

Doctor Miles turned to her. "Dana, monitor him. As I said before, you'll both be out there working your tails off to catch whoever did this, but he will feel pretty rotten for a few days."

-o-0-o-

Louvre Museum  
Paris, France  
Wednesday, December 4, 1996  
10:17 am

Phoebe stepped back into the niche, waiting for a young couple to pass. She had spotted Max and Caroline Lowenberg walking arm-in-arm, two galleries ahead. But she had also identified a well-dressed man one room ahead of her carefully observing the pair, avoiding bright lights, but never losing visual contact.

He looked like he was European, not like an American. If she had to guess, she would pick Bavarian. The short hair was as blond as a Scandinavian's but his features were too heavy-set, additionally, he lacked the height of a well-fed Norwegian or Swede his age. So that only left the south-western region of Germany, bordering the old Austro-Hungarian Empire as the man's likely origin.

The Inspector found herself clenching her fists, thinking of the fear in Isaac Podhowitz's eyes. _It was easier during the Cold War._ Then, there was an overarching menace, quickly identified, easily targeted. Now Europe was fragmenting along lines supposedly long-forgotten, like the Bosnia mess. Phoebe feared the little drama she was observing was no exception.

_Well, girl, this is where you do your job and keep your promise to Mulder._ She would watch and follow, keeping her CI informed, but not take action, not yet. If two representatives of official or quasi-secret organizations were tracking this gracious pair, there might be more she should be alert for.

-o-0-o-

It looked to all the world like Max Lowenberg was the doting codger, escorting his new wife for his golden years on a belated honeymoon. But could their shadows have overheard the words he whispered in his bride's ear, they would have comported themselves with greater caution.

"Well, Caroline dear, how do you like being the object of so much international attention?"

She smiled up at him. "After years of seclusion in Massachusetts, wonderful! Oh, I know I should be petrified. I'm probably inviting misfortune by saying so, but since we've left Chilmark, the travel and intrigue have given me new life." She squeezed his arm. "As have you, my dear." She rested her chin in the hollow of his upper arm, checking over his shoulder with one eye. "And one of the three is familiar, anyway."

He raised an eyebrow, wondering what the war years had been like for her. "How would you know one of those spies?"

She tittered, then pulled on his sleeve, so Max bent to let her whisper in his ear. "From one of Fox's Oxford photos. *That* so-called spy by the Rembrandt is a woman."

Using the glass plate over a delicate watercolor as a reflector, Max caught a clear image of the Inspector.

Caroline continued. "She's the one great love of my son's life who crushed him like a blown eggshell, Phoebe Green. She works for Scotland Yard, and of the three, she may actually be on our side, or could at least be brought over."

Chuckling, Max straightened, delighted with his wife's nimble mind. "I'm glad I have you tucked under my arm, Caroline. I don't think I could keep up with you if I didn't. Why do you think we might be able to trust her?"

She stood on tip-toe to spare her husband's back. "She's the only one who openly approached Isaac, Max. The rest skulked in corners, thinking they were being clever."

He kissed her cheek. "Yes, dearest, there are advantages to old age. Everyone assumes one is either senile or witless once the hair fades to silver, not that one might have years of experience to use for one's own protection. So, shall we give our entourage a scare, and take a few random trips on the Metro, before we ride to the top of the Eiffel Tower?"

-o-0-o-

Apartment 42  
Arlington, VA  
Thursday, December 5, 1996  
5:47 pm

Scully could hear the hacking from the elevator. _Whoever designed this virus should spend several weeks suffering from successive infections by slightly mutated forms of his or her handiwork!_ She knocked, but barely recognized his pleasant tenor under the heavy croak.

"That you, Scully? It's open."

Now she knew the depth of her paranoid partner's illness, so quickly turned the knob. He was flat on his back in his usual place, bundled in her down comforter and the Maya blanket that she had brought over from Apartment Five. The combination was the only thing either of them owned that was heavy enough to give him some comfort from the chills that set him shivering, as he was now. In the darkness of the previous night, not even the thick wraps had helped. As she had several times when he had been grieving for his Mother, she had gathered him in her arms until he had fallen into a fitful sleep.

Propelled by the flushed face and too-bright eyes, Scully hurried over to him, placing her bags at the end of the futon. She sat on the coffee table, checking his temperature with a digital thermometer, relieved it was down to 101 degrees. "I won't ask how you are, Mulder. I can see for myself."

His eyes flickered, then he replied through clenched teeth. "This is hell, Scully. I've had less severe cases of the flu after a week of exams at Oxford."

She reached for his glass beside her, refilling it from the spring water she had purchased on the way over. After his tap water had been laced with an hallucinogen in April of the previous year, neither of them wanted to risk adding further complications to his illness.

Sliding one hand behind his head, she held the glass to his lips while he drank, grateful for her presence. "How high did the fever go today?"

He grunted, so she moved the tumbler, now drained of its contents, away. "103 degrees before I broke down and took some ibuprofen. You need to go get more of that green stuff from Susan. It helped the most."

Scully set the empty glass back on the coffee table. "I won't have to, Mulder. She should be here within the hour. She called me, saying she had Nora's case notes for us to examine, if you feel up to it, and that she wanted to check you out for herself."

Mulder tried to push himself into a sitting position to give her space on the futon, but he was struck by a wave of nausea so fell back, defeated. "I won't be the best host tonight, Scully, but it will be good to have some company..."

Startled, she shifted from the low table to the futon, covering the bright cheeks with her hands. "Oh, Mulder, if you needed me here, why did you push me out the door this morning? The interviews could have waited."

He unswaddled an arm to grasp her wrist. "Because you have to find who killed Nora Samuelson. It may be related to this homeless case, and the sooner we get it wrapped up, the better, as far as I'm concerned. There are real X-Files out there that this is keeping us from and..."

She shook her head, hearing his voice switch from his hoarse croak to a broken whisper. "No more, Mulder. Save yourself for Susan when she gets here." Smoothing his hair off his forehead, she felt his elevated temperature with her fingertips, then frowned. _If he could only stay hydrated, it would reduce the recurrence of the fever._

-o-0-o-

Apartment 42  
Thursday, 8:13 pm

"Dana?"

After opening the door, Scully took the stack of notes from her collaborator.

Susan attempted to peer over the agent's shoulder. "How is he?"

Scully frowned. "Not good. This virus of yours is a real terror. Between the fever and chills, he's been miserable for most of last night, and I presume, today while I was working on the case. He finally dropped off about thirty minutes ago, so be quiet."

Susan closed the door gently, then followed the diminutive woman into the living room, where she examined Mulder. She whistled softly. "He's got it bad. It's like the homeless men I've seen too many of. Their bodies are stressed from exposure, just like his is, and this virus plain knocks them flat."

Scully sorted the documents into two piles. "I always know how sick he is by how hard he fights me when I try to take care of him, and he's meekly accepted all my aid for a full day now. These are all of Nora's case notes?"

Susan nodded. "I've even brought over the recent folders in her apartment, if you think that would help. You expect she knew her attacker?"

The red-haired agent checked her partner. "Yes. There was no sign of forcible entry, according to the Baltimore City police I spoke with, so Nora must have let him or her in willingly. She had few contacts in the area outside of you, a few other doctors at the Hospital, and all these homeless."

Susan frowned. "You don't suspect anyone at Hopkins, do you?"

Scully shook her head. "I've already interviewed your colleagues, and each one has an alibi. So that only leaves a patient." The two stacks were evenly high now. Scully handed the top folder off the left pile to Susan, then sat on the floor by the futon, giving her friend the desk chair. "Look for anyone with a history of violence and mental illness, or just strange behavior and mental illness."

Susan smiled. "Well, the mental illness and violence part clears your partner for sure. Although his sometimes strange theories don't."

"Good to have you here too, Sue." Both doctors jumped at the whisper from the man they thought was sleeping.

-o-0-o-

Photographic Lab  
J. Edgar Hoover Building  
Friday, December 6, 1996  
4:38 pm

Smiling at the approaching figure, 'Ace' pushed herself away from the keyboard. "Well, they found them all, just as you thought they would. If Mister Smokestack had listened to you, he still would be pulling down information, with video feeds, not just audio, right now."

'Charlie' poked at his black glasses that were forever sliding off his sweaty, puffy face. "He wanted the latest and greatest, with maximum retrieval potential, so you gave it your best shot."

'Ace' frowned.

The young agent sat beside her, thrilled to have these stolen moments alone together. _Don't fool yourself, she doesn't know you're alive._

'Ace' held up a glass and aluminum cylinder. "Yeah, but if I had more time, we could have used these. Oh, and he knows about the bugs in his place. He brought them over a week ago and wanted me to ID them for him. Who had the orders to wiretap him, anyway?"

Shrugging, 'Charlie' took the tube from her hand, brushing her fingers with his own. "We'll be meeting soon, and I'm sure that will be one point of discussion. So these Gunmen guys know their stuff?"

'Ace''s brunette curls bobbed. "As does Scully, apparently. They're up on all the latest hardware and software, but as Margaret describes them, they act like the Keystone cops. One of them has a long-standing thing for Scully."

He returned the CCD. "Don't you feel funny, spying on one of your Mother's neighbors?"

'Ace' shook her head. "It's all for a good cause, anyway. If Mulder and Scully learn too much, they might stop the experiments and tests before they are finished, and then how will we ever be ready?" She placed the cylinder back in the foam hollowed out for it and turned to him. "So, you want to go to a movie or something, Drew?"

He smiled at her pet name for him. _Who would have thought a guy who was heavy like me would have his own TV series?_ "Sorry, no can do. I have to transcribe Luther's latest tape from Europe tonight so *he* will have it in the morning. I wish Luther would do his own work, but he claims he's 'too old' to know how to use a keyboard. Did 'Finn' get his paintings away in time?"

She nodded. "He'd moved them to his place in Penn three days before the Customs agents started bumbling around in the woods. I wish he hadn't asked me to hide them in the basement of the ruined farmhouse. It's silly for him to waste his money on art just to impress the old guys."

"Oh, he's not wasting his money, don't worry."

"You don't mean ... But that's nuts!"

He sighed. "He says it's the thrill of the chase, breaking into those high security museums and making off with million dollar canvases, just to prove he can. I think he's just inviting trouble, if you ask me." He stood. "Well, gotta go. See something good for me, okay?"

"Sure thing, Drew." She had already turned back to the screen when the door closed behind her.

-o-0-o-

Apartment 42  
Saturday, December 7, 1996  
7:32 pm

Mulder rolled over, grimacing at the stiffness in his lower back. His hand bumped something hard, so he opened his eyes, aware he wasn't still aching all over. _Oh, Scully, you didn't have to._

The hard object was covered with auburn hair, so he knew his partner had spent the last few hours (days?) by his side. The case files were spread over his coffee table and floor. Their map, mounted on a board, was propped up against his desk.

Focusing on her face, he reached out to remove the glasses that were perched dangerously close to the end of her nose. After setting them on a stack of folders, he lifted her head, hoping to slip out and let her sleep. She stirred at his touch, papers sliding off her lap as she stretched.

He called to her softly, "Hey."

Upon hearing his normal, healthy voice, she pulled herself upright, surprised, but relieved. "You sound better."

He sat up and shrugged. "Yeah, well, I feel better. So what did you find out from Nora's files?"

She rubbed her face, then gathered the loose pages off the floor. "The only common element I could find was that several of her patients were boys in a group home." She pointed at a pile of folders at the far end of the low table. "Those patients all had a history of mental problems and were in and out of institutions." She passed him a smaller stack immediately beside it. "These are any who have had violent tendencies. Are you thirsty? You've been drinking water like a fish."

Grimacing at the thought, he held up his hand. "Not right now. In fact, I think I need..." Mulder stood slowly to test his wobbly legs on a trip to his bathroom. When he reemerged, Scully was on the sofa, entering data into her laptop. He waited until she looked up at him before he lobbed a question. "How long was I out?"

She smiled. "Just over three days, two actually, if you start counting from Susan's visit. You did have that homeless virus, by the way, not TB. I had to pump you full of analgesics to keep the fever from spiking too much. Mom wanted to come relieve me, but we really don't know how this virus works, and she doesn't need to get sick."

He sat next to her. "I remember Susan's visit, but not much else." He touched her shoulder. "Thanks for being here, Scully."

-o-0-o-

Apartment 42  
Saturday, 11:16 pm

Sitting in the chair, Mulder lifted his eyes from the file on his lap, then grinned. "Scully?" His partner was asleep again, her head slumped against the back of the sofa. He was awake, despite a pervasive lethargy, but could only guess how little rest she had permitted herself during his illness.

Mulder rose from the chair to walk to the futon, avoiding the open folders on the floor. He slid her gently to the center of the couch, guided her head to the pillow, then pulled the blankets over her. Through it all, Scully remained deeply asleep, which concerned him, since any prolonged physical contact usually brought her to full alertness.

Resuming his seat, Mulder adjusted his glasses. He wanted to review the doctor's files and see if there was anything other than the group home that linked Nora Samuelson's death to their case, before he dragged her up to Baltimore in the morning.

-o-0-o-

Apartment 42  
Sunday, December 8, 1996  
10:36 am

Warmed by the winter sun that shone in on her, Scully opened her eyes to her partner's amused face.

"I didn't know I was such a difficult patient, Scully."

She yawned. "Ran me ragged, Mulder. Have you found anything?"

He opened one of Nora's folders. "Just this. One of her patients was experiencing a bad reaction to her latest drug, TP-101. He was seeing things, so I think we should go talk to him."

After sitting up, she tapped the name at the top of the first page. "Yes, John Towser, I remember the file. His mother must have told him some whopping bedtime stories, because all of his hallucinations read like Joseph Campbell." She walked down the hall, stopping by his linen closet for a clean towel. "Let me shower and change before we go, Mulder."

Surprised, Mulder glanced over at her. _She brought clothes? When?_ "Just don't use all the hot water, okay?"

They grinned at the familiar argument.

As she disappeared into the bathroom, Mulder was suddenly aware of how long *he* had remained unwashed, so headed for his bedroom to find a clean shirt of his own.

-o-0-o-

William Donald Schaeffer Boy's Home  
Baltimore, MD  
Sunday, 1:10 pm

"John Towser?"

Johnny opened the door to his room, then gasped. _It's them!_ The man was leaner then when he passed him the five dollar bill, but he still had that nice lady with him. The tall man showed his respect by stepping aside, then guiding her into the room with a gentle hand on her back, as well as by the smile they exchanged as she passed. His Aunt Sarah would have approved, since she had taught him such manners as well.

The woman spoke in calm, even tones. "I'm Dana Scully, and this is my partner, Mulder. We work for the FBI..."

The boy's eyes glowed in excitement. "G-men, like Elliot Ness on TV?" Their shared laughter was relaxing.

He hopped on the mattress, crossing his legs under him. The room was sparsely equipped with a twin bed, a six drawer dresser, and a beaten-up wooden chair from a discarded dining room set. The woman sat on it, while the man stood to her left, his hands in his pockets.

After a cough, Mulder quipped to his partner. "But hardly untouchable, right, Scully?"

She waved her hand at his remark, then focused on Johnny. "Yes, we are agents with the FBI. We'd like your help finding out who killed Nora Samuelson."

A brief shadow passed over the boy's face. "Sure, Doctor Samuelson was my friend. What can I do? Do you want me to work undercover with you?"

Mulder chuckled. "We wish all the people we interviewed were that willing to help, but no, we just want you to answer a few questions. When was the last time you saw Doctor Samuelson?"

Johnny considered his response. "I saw her Friday at around 4:30 pm." He leaned towards them. "She dropped me off for dinner after she finished my tests. I had to help with the vegetables that night."

They glanced at each other, then the pathologist continued. "I'm a medical doctor, John. It would help me if you remembered what kind of tests she performed. Did she take any blood or tissue samples?"

"Both. She said I was special, that the medicine wasn't working on me, and I could help her find out why, but now she's dead. Can I help you find out why?"

They smiled at him, then Mulder took a deep breath. "But you don't remember her mentioning that she was planning on meeting with anyone?"

The boy shook his head. "She only said she would work up my samples immediately."

When man coughed again, the lady doctor looked up, concerned, then turned to John. "John, have you had a cold or flu recently, or do you know if any of the boys here at the home have been sick?"

Johnny's eyes widened. _They keep calling me John, like I'm a man, not a boy._ "No, Ma'am, I haven't been sick, but Carl was sick for four days last week, and they almost took him to the hospital."

Mulder lifted his hands out of his pockets, then took a step forward. "Where is Carl now?"

"Oh, he's in the laundry room. It's his turn to fold sheets, but he doesn't do a very good job of it. He thinks if he messes up, he won't have to handle the laundry any more. But, he's never been on the street, so he doesn't know it's better to have a few chores and a roof over your head, than to sleep in the rain and have men beat you for your clothes, or worse." He withdrew into himself as they watched.

Mulder rested a hand on his shoulder. "You're right, John. It is better. You've been a great deal of help to us."

The eagerness re-emerged slowly as he walked them to the basement door, chattering happily. Johnny knew they didn't remember him, but his Aunt Sarah would have labeled them 'good people.' _G-men, too!_ He waved as they descended the stairs, then sauntered off to the kitchen. _Time to help with the lunch dishes._

-o-0-o-

As they approached the laundry room, Scully glanced up at her partner. "He's a nice kid. I'm glad he found a way off the streets when he did, or he would have become one of those statistics we read about."

Mulder knocked on the laundry room door. "Carl Eberhardt?" They heard a ripping sound, then silence.

"Who wants to know?"

The agents snapped to attention at the edge in the brusque voice. They recoiled further when the door was thrown violently open by a short, dark-haired boy with a prominent scar denting his left cheek. A silent exchange passed between the two agents, so Mulder began the interview, while Scully, leaning against one of the two washing machines along the wall, observed. Along the other were two dryers, and furthest from the door, assorted mops and brooms mounted on hooks. Carl stood by the brooms, sulkily pushing pillowcases into one of the dryers.

"I'm Agent Mulder from the FBI, and this is my partner, Agent Scully. We'd like to ask you some questions, if we may." Mulder watched the boy snarl at them, then turn back to the machine, which raised his ire. "Look, Carl, this is an official FBI investigation. We're here to determine the activities of Nora Samuelson in the last days of her life, and find her murderer."

The boy spun around, swinging one of the laundry room brooms at the tall agent. "Go away! I'm glad she's dead! All she cared about were her drugs and her papers, not any of us. We were just test subjects to her. Get out!" He threw the broom like a javelin, barely missing Scully.

Mulder stepped between the boy and his partner, the muscles in his jaw working. "We are Federal Agents, here..."

Carl shoved the dark-haired man out of his way to stomp up the stairs, slamming the basement door behind him.

Mulder turned to Scully, who was staring alternately at the door above and the broom, sticking upright out of a laundry cart full of towels. He touched her back, reminding her he was there. "You okay, Scully?"

"Sure, Mulder, I'm fine. But Carl Eberhardt's behavior has moved him to the top of my list of suspects."

He led the way up the stairs, cautiously opening the door at the top. "I think you're right."

-o-0-o-

Baltimore-Washington Parkway  
Sunday, 3:52 pm

Scully shook her head, forcing herself awake. "You were saying, Mulder?" She stifled a yawn, then failed to suppress a explosive sneeze which was followed by a quick pair of hacking coughs.

Her partner picked up on her labored breathing. "Scully?"

She glanced over at his concerned face.

"This sounds familiar."

She squinted as the low winter sun shone directly in her eyes. "Mulder, the laundry room smelled of years of detergents, and you know I can't stand heavy perfumes. Besides, this isn't the homeless virus, since it only affects men of a specific age."

The car sat at the Rosslyn interchange, so he waited until they had passed through a series of lights and merges before responding. "But how do we know that? Homeless women usually have children in tow, so they may think the virus is just something the kids picked up." Slowing in a line of cars exiting the ramp, he reached over to feel her forehead. "You're running a fever, Scully, just like I was, and you can't keep your eyes open. When we get back to my place, I'm calling Susan."

Struggling against the exhaustion she felt, Scully's words sounded distant in her ears when she finally spoke. "I'll be okay. You need to check Carl out, Mulder. He may be the key."

-o-0-o-

Apartment 5  
Alexandria, VA  
Monday, December 9, 1996  
9:16 am

"Mulder, are you here?" Dana Scully had never been so cold in her life. Forcing her eyes open, she tugged at the heavy covers.

"Hush, I'm right here beside you."

She pivoted woozily toward the voice. What she thought were heavy covers was actually a pair of arms that held her tightly, her head resting on Mulder's chest.

"You've got it, Scully. Susan stopped by last night, took one look at you, and shot you up with another one of her experimental drugs. I've brought you back to your place where you would be more comfortable."

Her eyes drifted over the familiar furnishings in her living room, down to the thick combination of comforter and bright wool blanket. "Oh, no, I do. How?" When her partner held a glass of green liquid under her nose, rather than feeling the nausea she expected, Scully realized she was incredibly thirsty. She drained the tumbler, reaching up to grasp his arm with both hands. _Are they really shaking that much?_

"Susan's not sure. She's taken a sample of your hair, skin, throat, everything, in an effort to find out. She'll call me later on today with the results."

Hearing a rattling sound, Scully realized it was her teeth, chattering in her head. "How bad is the fever?"

He shifted her body to bring more of it in contact with his own, then held her again. "102 degrees, but if it wasn't for the liquid, it would be much worse. You need to rest now, to try to sleep through this."

_Oh, yes, that sounds good._ But a different thought forced its way into her consciousness. "What was in Carl's file?"

He pulled the covers back up around her neck. "Don't think about that, Scully. You just concentrate on recovering and let me worry about the case."

She struggled to sit up again. _I can't let him do all the work on this, not this time._

Mulder loosened his grip, until the vertigo hit, then Scully fell back against him, shaken and limp. The words of reassurance she heard as her green-blue eyes finally slid shut were as much directed at himself as they were at her. "You'll be okay, Scully, it's just a virus. You haven't been abducted, it's just a virus."

-o-0-o-

Hotel Noordwijk  
Amsterdam, The Netherlands  
Wednesday, December 11, 1996  
7:47 am

Max Lowenberg approached his wife from the hotel lobby, coming up behind her. "Good morning, my dear."

Caroline smiled up at her husband as he leaned down to kiss her before settling in the opposite chair. "I'm sorry I didn't wait, but I wanted to grab one of the sun-lit tables here in the breakfast room before they were all occupied."

The white walls in the bright room contrasted with the stained timbers that were the frame and support for the building. Along the south wall, each small table sat by a window, and the red checkered tablecloths accented the various colors of the forced allium flowers in green windowboxes.

"That's fine, I needed the time to write this for you." He slid a small box wrapped in gilded paper across the table.

A parchment scroll rested under the satin ribbon tied around the gift. Caroline slid the note out first, the words Max had written bringing a wistful expression to her face. She rerolled the sheet, deep in thought.

He reached for her hand, smiling gently when she took it. "I didn't mean to disturb you, Caroline, and we don't have to go through with it unless you want."

She took a quick sip of tea before responding. "No, Max, it's important to you, and I have no real objections. In Vienna, my parents emphasized Geist over Cheder, so I was never a very religious person. Even though, to have the ceremony at your Temple would make me feel we were really married."

He cocked his head, picking up on her reluctance. "But?"

She took a deep breath. "But asking Fox to be there? I don't know. He hasn't had the chance to face Bill's death, really, and he doesn't know you that well..."

"An oversight I hope to correct as soon as I can, Caroline."

She shook her head. "No, it's more than that. Fox has no respect for religions at all. He blames himself so completely for Samantha's abduction that finding her has become a Quest for him. I wanted him to finish studying for a Bar Mitzvah, but he would have none of it. I've even heard him rage at God for letting her be taken." She stared at the hyacinths in the window box. "Poor boy, there was nothing he could have done at the time; those horrible monsters saw to that."

Max tapped the table-top, summoning the waiter with more steaming croissants and rolls. "Then tell him, dearest. From the few times we spoke in Mexico, I could see the void in his soul. He doesn't understand everything that happened when you and Bill separated, and if you would speak with him, he might have a little peace. Some sense of self-worth is what got me through the terror I had to face in the camps."

Caroline thought of her promise, wondering what she could say to the man her introspective boy had become that would not endanger him. "I'll think about it, Max. But, today we are visiting the Rijksmuseum, yes?"

He smiled, then nudged the unopened gift with his knuckles.

She tore off the paper, then popped the box open. Inside was a necklace with a single sapphire tear drop pendant.

Max fastened it lovingly around her neck.

She clucked happily. "Really, you shouldn't. You've given me a wonderful little treasure every day since Thursday, and I don't have anything for you. It's unfair."

He hugged her shoulders. "No, Caroline, you are the jewel I found this year. And since all my money is bequeathed to the museum in Haifa after our deaths, whom else should I spend it on? Hum? Let's finish our breakfasts, then head out. I've always wanted to see their collection of miniatures, and to revisit some old friends. You see, some of Thea's and my Steens that are in the exhibit there." He chuckled to himself. "Besides, our retinue awaits."

-o-0-o-

Apartment 5  
Alexandria, VA  
Friday, December 13, 1996  
1:29 am

"Scully, can you hear me? It's Mulder. Wake up, please?"

She shuddered at the fear in his whisper, so turned her head toward it. "Sure, Mulder, I hear you just fine. I only fell asleep a few minutes ago. What's wrong?" _Why can't I focus my eyes?_ Forcing herself to concentrate, she willed her partner's face into view. His grey pallor shocked her, so she sat up. "Mulder, you look terrible!"

He was bending over her, one hand wrapped gently around hers. "You've been feverish for almost four days now, Scully."

She slipped her feet to the floor, finding she had little strength to return the clasp. "This is worse than when you had it?"

Nodding, he sat beside her, seeking reassurance of her recovery. "Oh, yes. Sue and I thought we should take you to the hospital about three different times, but in each case, the fever subsided, except you didn't regain consciousness." He rested his free hand on her shoulder. "If you hadn't come around after this drop, you would have found yourself staring at sterile white walls." He grinned, ruefully. "But today is my lucky day; I think I finally understand this case, and you came back to me." He released her reluctantly, then stood. "Sue said to call her as soon as you were awake."

Scully searched around for her cell phone, but her partner was walking down her hallway, where she heard him knocking on her guest bedroom door.

His voice echoed slightly in the enclosed space. "Sue, Scully's awake."

"She is?" Susan Miles stepped out of the hallway, her sweater and khakis rumpled from sleeping in them. "Dana, how do you feel?"

"Drained, Sue, but okay. I need to use the facilities, if you can wait to take samples." She staggered off to her bathroom, Mulder beside her until she closed the door. When she emerged, he was pacing the living room, so she bit her lip to keep from fussing at the overprotective streak that had taken control of his personality. Instead, she let him guide her to the chair he had vacated when she began stirring, then tucked a comforter in around her.

Susan touched his shoulder. "Mulder, she'll be fine. Let me collect the tissues and fluids I'll need. Why don't you hit the shower."

A grim set to his lips was all the response Scully expected her partner to exhibit. She was not disappointed, so crinkled her nose at him.

He grinned, accepting the silent reprimand from her, then headed down the hall.

As she watched, Susan opened her medical kit to begin setting out the tools she would use shortly.

Scully rearranged the coverlet. "Sue, do you have any idea how I could have caught this?" She glanced towards the bathroom as Mulder yelped. _He always forgets to set the hot water before he steps in._

"I'm not completely sure yet. But, I think your body is mimicking a male hormone signature. Your estrogen and progesterone levels are slowly dropping, as they would in a man's body between twenty and thirty-five."

While the blonde doctor scraped her throat, then plucked a few strands of auburn hair, Scully considered the full implications of her classmate's logic. "The virus incubates for about three weeks, which is long enough for a normal woman's body to cycle, and to tell if the hormone levels are flat, as they are in children and the elderly. But I've been experiencing a premature menopause because of the surgery, and that tripped the virus."

Doctor Miles withdrew a hypo full of blood. "Yes, Dana, exactly. Now I'd like to get back to my lab and start on these. I know you'll have excellent care after I leave, but make sure he gets some sleep."

Frowning, Scully checked her watch. "Sue, it's a little before two in the morning and you want to drive back to Baltimore? Stay and catch up on your rest, too. I feel like I've had enough of that, finally, and Mulder will only use the couch."

Susan continued packing. "No, he was insistent that I sleep while you were so far gone, so I'm fine as well." She slung the strap of her bag over her shoulder. "Say, what gives with you two, anyway? I thought you said..."

Scully shook her head. "Mulder? Oh, ever since my abduction, he's taken it upon himself to be my full-time bodyguard. I used to fight with him about it, but his emotions on the subject are closely related to those about his sister, and it only hurts him." Scully's memories of her capture by Donnie Phaster reappeared, unbidden and intrusive. "Besides, it sometimes helps make up for all the hell we normally have to put up with on our cases."

Sue studied the Agent's pale face. "You know, It's so funny to hear my very independent friend from school talk about enjoying someone pampering her as if she were a Princess Royal on a satin pillow."

Scully frowned, remembering using that exact phrase on a plane in March. "No, Sue, you don't understand. Mulder expects me, and I intend to, pull my share of the load on this team. In fact, witnesses relate more to me than to him, as well as my being a better shot, both of which irk him at times. And I've hauled him out of more trouble than either of us wants to admit." _As he has you, Dana._ She stopped, unable to find the words that conveyed the full import of the images that ran through her head. "Sue, he's my... _It sounds so insignificant._ ...partner." Scully's dissatisfaction with her incoherence showed in her pinched expression.

"Well, whatever, Dana. I'm happy you have someone, that's all." Doctor Miles held up a hand. "I know! It's not like that. Don't get up, I can see myself out, and I'll call you when I know something, okay?"

Scully attempted to stand, but her legs had other ideas, so she settled back, hearing the outer door close. Despite the languor, her mind was fully alert. The sound of running water in the bathroom turned her thoughts to the word that had failed her so completely.

As long as she had known Susan Miles, men had practically lain down at her feet, so Sue thought of them as one-dimensional, and Mulder probably baffled her. 'Partner' sounded like a person one met for golf on alternate Tuesdays, not the intuitive, quixotic hunter she spent most of her waking hours with. 'Partner' didn't sound like the concerned friend who brought her coffee, or the droll character who knew how to lift her spirits with a dry jab at life's inanities. But there was no other word for a union of minds, in a culture that counted as significant only romantic connections between men and women, or blood ties.

Scully tried her legs again, finding she could walk, albeit stiffly, so she headed for her kitchen. The sea-blue mug from Ahab stood alone on the top shelf of her curio cabinet next to the kitchen doorway, one of the few personal items they had salvaged on Halloween. Mulder had glued it back together for her, but as usual, had ensnared himself in the process. He had firmly grasped the broken pieces just long enough for the extra-strong ceramic epoxy to cement his flesh in place on two of the cracks. She had found herself separating his long fingers from the mug with deft scalpel work, while he fussed. Her impromptu surgery had left red patches on his fingertips for a week afterward. The memory of his bandaged fingers and the incident, a microcosm of their partnership, lifted one corner of her mouth.

Scully was still thirsty. With her stomach still unsettled, she knew that rose hip tea, high in ascorbic acid, would help her body fight off the lingering effects of this virus. So, the water set to boil, she returned to her chair.

Toweling off his hair, Mulder, wearing his FBI sweatpants, emerged from the bathroom. "Scully, did I hear the door?" Checking the kitchen, he noted the tea set out, then stood by her chair.

She looked up. "Yes, I asked Susan to stay, but she wanted to start working up the samples she took from me."

Under the heat-rouged, shaved skin, Scully could still see the ashen pallor in the dark circles around his eyes. "How much sleep did you lose while I was unconscious, Mulder?"

He pursed his lips. "No more than you did when I was out of it, Scully."

Unwilling to let the conversation slide into an argument, she walked carefully over to the map. "When I woke up, you said you thought you'd solved the case. What did you mean?"

Lifting an eyebrow at her determination, he draped the towel around his neck as he marshaled his thoughts. "Well, not who killed Nora Samuelson, but how these dots could be related. If someone *is* using the homeless to test designer viruses, then that person will want to know why the bugs affected some people and not others. So, collect the very ill and the seemingly healthy. Also, if you could catch this, other women can as well. You were exposed only because of your association with me, which led me to begin working out the connections among the homeless themselves."

She nodded. "That makes sense."

A hand on her shoulder, he guided her to the sofa, where he pointed at the sheets of paper covering her coffee table. "Look, I've diagrammed the relationships among the people in the DC shelters. Our safety net is so bad anymore, that whole families have lost their homes, but not all of them come in the married mom and pop units we expect. Single men on the street often attach themselves to women with children, and mostly, it's the members of those families that are disappearing. I can't work out the rest of the interconnections, though."

Scully sat on the sofa, studying his charts. "Well, Mulder, the homeless are just human, too. I'm sure many of these unconnected dots are related through casual friendships and sexual liaisons, not only long-term contacts. But we still don't know who introduced the virus, or how to stop it, other than through the immunity that comes from surviving it."

Excited, Mulder dropped the wet towel on the floor. "Or what happens to the homeless once they vanish. If the DNA is all terrestrial, as Susan indicated, then it can't be aliens spiriting them off. Besides, after collection of necessary data, abductees are usually dropped off somewhere close to the point of departure, and so far, none of the homeless has reappeared."

Scully studied her partner's face, concerned that in his present exhausted state, he would lapse into a silent depression about his sister.

However, at present, he was pursuing not a lost little girl, but the case at hand. "I only see one way to get to the bottom of this, Scully. I've had the virus, and I'm pushing the upper age limit that it is supposed to affect. Therefore, I'm a likely target of interest to the group behind this." He turned to his partner. "I know you won't like what I'm about to say, but I think I should spend a few nights in the streets and see what I can find out."

"Mulder! No!" Scully was on her feet, fear and concern propelling her. "I won't let you go by yourself."

He rose as well, defensive. "Scully, I need someone on the outside I can trust..."

She put both hands on her hips. "No, Mulder, you listen. We have a chain of hypotheses built up, none of which has been tested, and I won't let you put yourself on the streets alone, where the Shadows can grab you and you'll disappear for real!" _I know that doesn't matter to you in your Quest for the Truth, but..._

He leaned over her. "That's not the point here..."

She stomped angrily around the room, surprised at the sudden burst of energy. "It's exactly the point. Consider what we've concluded. First, that this virus is artificially created, not naturally occurring, which it may well be, since all the DNA are terrestrial, and since retroviruses mutate rapidly anyway. Second, that the homeless are test subjects, instead of a weakened group that is more susceptible to any illness than the general populace. Third, that when they disappear, it is due to directed selection, not just faulty records-keeping and the shifting of a highly transient population. Fourth, that whoever is out there knows that you've had the virus and that you are slightly unusual for a 'test' subject."

Mulder studied her from across the room. _Back to all those steps, are you?_

Hearing him gulping air, Scully held up a hand. "By that same line of reasoning, I should be the one they want, since I am truly atypical."

Mulder had been lining up responses to her objections, but her last statement drove them out of his head. "Scully! I won't let you go without me!" He planted himself squarely in front of her to grab both her shoulders. "I can't let them have you, not again."

She stepped back, then they glared at each other before she shook her head. "Well, Mulder, if neither of us is willing to be the one on the outside, then we should go in together, and let someone else worry about us."

He expelled a long breath, then began pacing. "You may be right, Scully. This is official FBI business, not just a preliminary search based on a videotape I bought. In a day or so, after you've fully recovered, we'll talk to Skinner about sending us out with back-ups."

The kettle whistled, so they used the distraction to end the discussion. As she entered the kitchen to tend the tea, Mulder remained in her living room, drained from the illness and worry.

When she returned, Scully walked over and grasped his elbow. "I'll admit to exhaustion if you will." When he nodded, she settled into the chair. "Mulder, thank you for looking after me. I know how you felt earlier, I'm weak, but not sleepy. Why don't you get some rest? I'd like to go over your charts to bring myself up to speed and beat our report into reasonable shape to give Director Skinner. You know he'll give us the third degree over what we want to do. It's still dark, but I'll be making noise, so feel free to use the bedroom."

He moved over to the sofa to begin rearranging the diagrams. "No, you may need me to answer questions about my scribbles in the margins. This will be fine."

Scully thought about protesting that she had years of practice reading his scrawls, but she also had years of experience deciphering Mulder, so knew he would stay with her until he was convinced she was well.

-o-0-o-

Apartment 5  
Saturday, December 14, 1996  
9:53 am

"Mulder." His cell phone awakening him, he had thrown off the wool blanket, then reached over to the coffee table to answer it.

Scully looked up from her laptop, sending him a silent 'Who?' with her raised eyebrows.

'Frohike' he mouthed back. She rolled her eyes, prompting a lopsided grin. "Okay, I'm at Scully's, so see you in a few." He ended the call.

She queried him, "They're coming over?"

"No, not them, him. Byers and Langly are still working on the wiretaps, but Frohike has something he won't discuss over the phone on Max. I guess I shouldn't be curled up on your sofa in my sweats when he gets here." He headed for the bathroom, carrying his shirt and jeans, then turned to her. "Unless ..."

She launched his jogging shoes at him, one at a time. "Forgot those."

He dropped his clothes, catching a shoe in each hand. "Yeah, right."

-o-0-o-

"Well, Mulder, your mother picks out interesting men. You haven't had time for a full background check on Mister Lowenberg, have you?" Scully remained purposely in the chair, so Frohike took the sofa, Mulder standing between them.

The Gunman had arrived while Mulder was still changing, so the agent was tucking in his shirt . "No, the FBI doesn't approve of using the resources of the Bureau for purely personal reasons."

Scully looked up, surprised at her partner's sudden regard for protocol. _Perhaps he doesn't want to know._

Frohike paused, confused as well. "It ties in with the surveillance photos, in a roundabout way."

Now Scully's interest was piqued. "How so?"

The Gunman graced her with what he must have considered his most charming smile, but she pointedly ignored it. "He's a lawyer, or was, and a partner in some fancy law firm in Manhattan, where, it turns out, Daddy D'Amato was a client."

Mulder began pacing. "So that's why Phoebe said he was irritating the wrong people. It all keeps coming back, again and again, Scully."

Frohike passed Mulder a photo. "No, don't get sidetracked, my man. It was the firm, not Lowenberg, who knew D'Amato. Max's business was corporate mergers, which made him a wealthy man, but his pro bono work was all tied up with the emerging state of Israel, specifically the restoration of Jewish treasures appropriated by the Nazis." Mulder passed the glossy to Scully, then the Gunman pointed to one of the faces. "That's Max in 1953 in Tel Aviv. Recognize him?"

Scully tapped the image of a different figure. "Mulder, more to the point, age this man by about forty years and he is?"

Mulder leaned over his partner's chair, considering. "Our friend we met in Klemper's orchid house?"

Frohike leaned in, observing the personage under discussion.

Scully reached back to touch Mulder's arm. "Wait, Mulder, wasn't he in that picture with your father and Klemper?"

He paced the room, thinking of the rows of unlined faces. "Yeah, Scully, I'm sure he was. But it doesn't make sense for Max to have been involved with Operation Paperclip in any way, so there must be some other connection that we aren't aware of." He smacked his fist against his open palm. "I wish I could get to him and my Mother! There are so many questions I need to ask them."

Frohike took off his glasses for a moment. "Well, wouldn't he be mentioned in the MJ documents that the old Navaho, Hosteen, has memorized?"

Mulder shook his head. "He may well be, Frohike, but until he have a name to go with the face, even MJ won't help."

Scully shrugged. "And he's probably not in the D'Amato papers, otherwise they would have made a greater effort to recover them."

Excited, the tall agent crossed the room to stand in front of her. "Unless his presence is under an alias we could recognize from the personnel list."

Scully stood to join her partner as he headed down the hall to her computer in the bedroom.

Frohike followed, watching over their shoulders as she brought up the Gunmen's web page and the computer images of the papers. "You want I should find out about him? We keep files on most of those high society turkeys." Two heads nodded, then Scully rose from the chair, letting the short man assume control of the keyboard. "How do you know this guy?"

Glanced at her partner, Scully noticed he was deep in thought. _Well, they know about the Smoking Man and Mister X, so why not?_ "He's met with us in the past, to give us certain information it was in his interest to let us know. He's somehow connected with the Shadows, but we can't tell how."

Mulder took up the thread from her. "Yes, anything you can find out for us will give us leverage to use against them. Thanks to the medals and the power that Matheson wields, we're relatively secure, but if Phoebe finds anything dangerous, we may be back at square one again."

Frohike grinned, then swiveled in the chair to face his friend. "When did she drop by for a visit, Mulder? Always loved hearing your stories on The Terror of Scotland Yard."

Her curiosity having gotten the better of her, Scully, her eyes twinkling, tapped Frohike's shoulder. "Oh, what stories? That woman is so, well, cruel, that..."

Both thick eyebrows shot up on the small Gunman's forehead. "Oh, lovely Dana, is that what he's told you? Well, ahem, there were certain incidents he's uh..." Frohike paused, leaving his friend dangling.

A flustered Mulder lowered his head between them. "You guys stop! She's out of my life for good, and that's where I want her to stay, so don't bring her up again." He backed off a few steps then plopped on his partner's bed, his face reddening under her amused gaze.

Scully arched one eyebrow. _Must have told them some whoppers, Mulder._

Mulder crossed his arms. "Let's just stick to Max, okay? How does he connect to the art again?"

"Oh, that. Well, he had more than just that one painting we saw. In addition to the synagogue treasures, he was responsible for the recovery of much of the art taken from the homes of wealthy Jews in Germany, or what little of it remained once the Nazis were done relabelling it. Max and his wife Thea never had children, so were quite the art collectors themselves, and built up a respectable group of Steens. He retired in 1988, after donating one of the largest single collections of manuscripts, as well as the Old Masters, to a museum in Haifa."

Scully chewed her lip. "Mulder, I don't see the connections either. The white-haired man we've both met is a part of the Shadow Government, I suppose. But our three prime suspects are all connected to Wall Street, and don't own property in Annapolis or its environs. So why is Customs roaming the Maryland woods?"

-o-0-o-

Basement Level, Pentagon City Mall  
Arlington, Virginia  
Saturday, 1:17 pm

Three intense men and a brunette woman in their early thirties faced each other around one of a sea of white plastic tables in the food court. They looked like many other Washington professionals, taking a break from their Christmas shopping while snacking on a stromboli or fried chicken from one of the booths along the convex wall of the triangularly shaped mall. A line of children snaked around the raised dais in the center of the eating area, waiting to visit 'Santa'. Kris Kringle was, in reality, a harried employee sweating under a fake beard and padding, as were his 'elves'.

The red-haired man frowned at twins fighting in a double stroller before 'Andrew' spoke to his companions. "I'm sick of it, guys. We're doing all their dirty work for them, and they sit around drinking tea all day. We have a real crisis with the new Congress coming up, in case they don't know it. Some of the information Randall's had me prepare should scare them silly."

The blond man grunted his frustration. "I've seen what Matheson's planning. It's full-scale exposure, people, and we could all lose our jobs and do real time, or worse, if we don't act fast."

'Charlie', overheated as always, rubbed his face. "They don't seem to care, they just talk about how they beat the people's representatives back in the early Seventies. But there must be something else happening that will protect them, since something or someone always has in the past."

The woman shook her head, worried. "I don't think so. It's too bad so many of our people were turned out, but we have to do this ourselves. I think it's time we took control." 'Ace' shrugged as she crunched on a pita chip.

'Andrew''s red curls bobbed. "I think so, too. It doesn't matter which party controlled Congress this session, because the Cold War is too long over to continue as a justification for the funding required for the Organization's efforts. If we told them why the money was really necessary, of course, we'd be laughed out of city. We know what we need to do, since we've been trained so well. Why not turn their methods against them? There are many others in the Organization that are as upset with the status quo as we are. All it would take would be a few supplies from a hardware store, and blammo!" He clapped his hands. "We'd be in charge."

The four heads moved closer together.

-o-0-o-

End – Twelfth Night - Lights


	3. Solstice

=====o=============================o=====

_Twelfth Night_ by Mary Ruth Keller

Part III - _Solstice_

=====o=============================o=====

Murphy's Grand Irish Pub  
Alexandria, VA  
Sunday, December 15, 1996  
1:15 am

In the nearly empty restaurant, Walter Skinner glared across the table at the X-Files agents. _I can't believe they're serious._ "So this is what you dragged me down here in the middle of the night to tell me, people?" He crossed his arms. "It's tough enough getting support from the powers that be for most of your cases, Mulder, but you want me to let you go undercover, *with* surveillance, at this time of year? Agent Scully?"

The pathologist pulled herself up straight. "Yes, Sir, we believe the only way to find whoever is responsible for the disappearances is to become homeless ourselves. You've read our report and seen the medical evidence from the virus as Agent Mulder and I were exposed to it. If the FBI is serious about this case, then it should be handled as thoroughly as the drug busts that go down once a week."

The Assistant Director stared at the reflection of the busboy in the window, then snapped his head back to face his subordinates. "Normally, I would agree to this. The circumstantial evidence is too strong to ignore, and for once, I can show this preliminary report around without snickers. You've done more than sufficient legwork to narrow down the sites of introduction to the DC or Baltimore area. It's for a local case that I can shake loose some support funds. But, for you two, I have be more circumspect. Why can't we put other agents undercover once they're briefed?"

Mulder shoved his hair off his forehead, impatient with his supervisor for not acceding to what he considered an obvious request. "Sir, it's the virus. We've been exposed and recovered, so we would be of interest to them. Any other agents could only observe, not draw whoever is behind this out. Besides, no one else needs to come down with this thing. I'm surprised the police haven't found bodies as a result of it."

Skinner shook his head. "Look, the fact that we're discussing this in a bar in the middle of the night means we all have a specific group in mind for our suspects."

Mulder and Scully glanced at each other, but it was the red-haired agent who protested. "Well, actually, Sir, no. This wasn't the case you were warned about, it was Sharpsburg, or so you said. The reason we wanted to meet you here, not in your office, was so the Shadows wouldn't catch on until we could plan a defense strategy. Believe me, Sir, we've discussed protectionary tactics in great length."

Mulder grinned down at his partner.

Skinner wondered how heated those arguments had become, and who had given in to whom. "Okay, then, I think I can get funds and reinforcements. But for me do so, I want two things in return. First, and this means you, Agent Mulder, I need to do some checking of my own, before I give this the green light, so sit tight until you hear from me. Thanks to our support on the Hill, I can get what I need in a day or two. Second, I want to know all the details of your safe-guards. I mean *all*, even the parts involving those three oddball friends of yours. I'm still not entirely convinced that this little operation will go totally unnoticed by certain Grey Suits. You dragged me out here to drop this bombshell on me, and I'm not catching any more shuteye tonight. Agreed?"

Scully nodded, obviously relieved.

But her partner, while in assent, was far less enthusiastic. "Sir, they *will* have reservations about close cooperation with any official agency..."

Skinner's jaw set in a firm line. "Well, *Agent* Mulder, they *have* somehow managed to bend their scruples enough to work with one or two official FBI types from time to time, so persuade them! I want us all reading from the same playbook here." He placed both hands on the table, then leaned over it. "You don't hear what I hear, but if all goes well in this case, the X-Files will no longer be a forgotten section shoved in the basement." His voice dropped to a whisper, forcing the partners to hunch over to catch his words. "The new Congress is very interested in certain organizations, and if possible, would like to restrict the scope of their activities, either by touching their financial pipeline, or by exposure, if you catch my drift." He sat back and exhaled. "So, I believe the operative phrase here involves cessation of minor dorsal irritation through simultaneous digitation." He looked from one to the other. "Well?"

-o-0-o-

Autobahn  
Munich, Germany  
Sunday, 8:19 am

"Max, we don't have to make this trip if you don't feel you're ready." Caroline reached over to lay her hand on her husband's thigh. "You were talking in your sleep again last night."

He glanced quickly at her before guiding the Fiat around another Mercedes. "No, Caroline. Everyone must confront his demons sometime. To see that place again, emptied of the faces in my mind, will lay to rest many of my own fears. I'm struggling to think of it as a visit to an old primary school, where I'll find the teachers and rooms all much smaller and less intimidating than I expected." His white mustache twitched. "Besides, you must pay your respects to your parents."

She closed her eyes, remembering, as she boarded the train to Switzerland, Mother weeping, waving, holding Papa's arm. Papa, of course, had his beloved Goethe tucked under the other. _How wrong we were, all of us!_ Her family had believed the Austrian Government too civilized, too respectful of the economic and cultural power that the urbane, assimilated Jews of Vienna possessed, to yield to the Fuhrer's demands. But in the end, it was only their twisted definition of race that mattered. Isaac had told her how they were dragged out of their house late at night, then herded onto boxcars with Czech peasants who spoke only broken German, and smelled of the farm.

The white-haired woman sent him a quick smile. "Yes, of course I must. Thank you, Max dear."

Since the exit loomed ahead, he decelerated to turn off.

Caroline checked her side view mirror. "I see them, or more correctly, I see her, three cars back." When she saw her husband was gripping the steering wheel, white-knuckled, she touched his hair. "Max?" His gaze was distant, so she felt compelled to call to him again. "Max, stop the car!"

As if in a trance, his foot moved from the accelerator to the brake, then the silver vehicle slowed to a halt, engine idling. When Caroline shook his arm, he blinked. "I'm sorry, Caroline. This is harder than I thought it would be. The camp is just ahead, so you go on. I'll catch you up."

She peered out at the thick forest ahead of her. "Max, I don't see anything at all."

His face reddened, then he pounded the steering wheel once. His voice emerged from deep in his throat, angry and afraid. "They're still there, Caroline. I can see them in my mind's eye. All those gaunt, sunken cheeks; all the wizened children who were once honored elders. I can't!" He was sobbing, his head in his hands.

Shaken, she held him. _For my sake, you'll brave spies and intrigue that you barely understand, but these memories overwhelm you._ "Hush, dear. We've seen enough. I prefer to remember my parents as I last saw them in life. It was hard enough to see their faces in the Museum in Washington. Let's go back now." She rocked him, then jumped as another car pulled up behind them.

It was the Inspector from Scotland Yard. Phoebe looked worried as her face was framed by the car window. "Mrs. Mulder, I mean Mrs. Lowenberg, is everything all right? Is Mister Lowenberg feeling well?"

Nodding, Caroline rolled down the window. "Yes, Ms. Green, it is, and he will be."

Surprised, Phoebe stepped back. "How do you know me? We've never met, even at Mulder's graduation." When Max straightened, whispering that he needed some air, the Englishwoman opened the door for him. _Just like him, there's more to these two than meets the eye._

Caroline smiled in gratitude, still supporting her husband as he leaned against the hood of the car. "He did send pictures occasionally; I had bought Fox a Nikon as a high school graduation present so he would."

Phoebe coughed, covering a snicker as she resolved that this dignified lady would never know some of what that camera had photographed.

The older woman rubbed her husband's back. "Max, let's go, please."

Still shaken, he let her guide him to the passenger door to take a seat.

Phoebe stood beside them. "Mrs. Lowenberg, we need to talk. There's a small inn about three kilometers further along off the Autobahn where we can have some tea, if that would help."

Caroline held her husband's shoulder for a few moments, then turned to face the younger woman. "I think it would, my dear. I'll follow you." She shaded her eyes, looking back towards the main road. "Oh, look, here come the other two."

Both of Phoebe's eyebrows shot up. "There were two? How did you know?"

Caroline smiled enigmatically. "I didn't just darn socks during the War, Inspector."

-o-0-o-

Dining Room  
Hotel Bavaria  
Munich, Germany  
Sunday, 9:18 am

Phoebe studied the men and women, sitting in small groups, clustered around thick pine trestle tables. "Mrs. Lowenberg, can you tell me which of the men in this room have been following you?"

They had waited for Max to regain his composure before initiating any further conversation into Caroline's past. The darkly stained walls and small windows enhanced the somber atmosphere, keeping the few late risers and travelers on breaks silent.

Max was sipping a cup of Earl Grey while holding his wife's hand. He chuckled at Phoebe's question. "She can probably tell you their family history, if you let her get close."

Smoothing out a paper napkin, Caroline sketched the layout of the dining room, then drew X's by two of the rectangles. She had indicated both the Bavarian that Phoebe was aware of, as well as a balding middle-aged man in thick glasses. Caroline thought of the old man in the dark room in Washington. _He's one of yours, you old devil, you haven't changed at all._ "You were aware of the German, I take it?"

A single quick dip of the head.

"But, the other, well, I..." The words caught in her throat, making her gasp. _I can't tell anyone anything! But what if it's too late?_ "...I can't say any more, Inspector. You see, during the war, we all had to take oaths of secrecy not to reveal what we did."

"But, Mrs. Lowenberg, it's fifty one years later! Surely by now..."

Caroline's fierce expression stopped her.

Phoebe connected the troubles of mother and son. "It's about those papers, isn't it?"

Caroline considered the implications of her next words before answering. "No."

Wondering again just who this quiet woman really was, Max turned to his wife. "Caroline, I thought you said we could trust her."

The password echoed in her mind as she rested her head briefly on his shoulder. "It's not a matter of trust, dear, it's a matter of protection. I have to look out for all those I love, so it is better if I trust no one with what I remember." _For all I can tell, I may be one of the last who does know._ "I do think you are a responsible person, Inspector, but I must follow my own best judgment in this case."

Phoebe smiled, finding the firm, but polite, resolve strangely familiar. _Everything about his family seems that way._

The white-haired woman sighed. "And, Inspector, do call me Caroline. When you call me Mrs. Lowenberg-" She patted her husband's arm. "-I feel like a schoolteacher."

"Very well, Caroline, do you have any idea why the Bavarian operative would be following you? Or the American? And please call me Phoebe."

"About the American, I can't say, so don't ask. But the Bavarian? I have no idea. There's nothing I know that could be of interest to the present government in Bonn."

Now recovered and alert, Max sighed. "But I think I know."

The women focused on him.

Max slipped his arm around Caroline to squeeze her apologetically. "Just as you have secrets, my Love, so do I. But unlike you, I have no one to protect, not anymore."

Phoebe raised an eyebrow. "So he's following you, Mister Lowenberg?"

"Yes, most likely, and call me Max, since I'm no one's schoolteacher either."

Phoebe nodded.

He took his wife's hand again. "I helped locate art the-" He closed his eyes. "-National Socialists had stolen, so your Bavarian may be tracking me, although for what specific reason, I couldn't begin to hazard a guess. The recovery process was conducted with all due respect for the laws of the nations involved. What art Thea and I owned personally is in a museum in Haifa. We settled our estate before we moved to Miami. I only have the house in Florida and another one on Santorini." He smiled at Caroline. "The villa is all light and warmth, dearest. I've wanted to show it to you ever since we shivered in the woods in Massachusetts. After the New Year, we'll escape down there until you feel ready to visit the States again."

Phoebe's thoughts flew back to the flat in Walford.

It was there they remained, until Caroline touched her shoulder. "Phoebe? What do you know that we should as well?"

Taking a deep breath, the Inspector shook herself mentally. "Well, Caroline, first I should tell you that I spoke with your son last month, and..."

The older woman leaned forward. "Fox? How is he? How is Dana?"

Phoebe paused. _Dana?_ "He's worried about you two. He made me promise to look out for you, and despite how deep the rift between us was when we broke up at Oxford, I will honor that pledge. So I'll tell you what I know, and maybe between the three of us, we can work out what's really going on."

-o-0-o-

William Donald Schaeffer Boy's Home  
Baltimore, Maryland  
Monday, December 16, 1996  
1:15 pm

Elizabeth Williams cleared the newspapers and files off two chairs in her glassed-in space so the agents from the FBI could sit. They were both drained from the virus, thinner than when she had seen them just nine days earlier, but she could read their determination.

Once her visitors were situated, she closed the door, then walked across her office to take her customary place, from which she had counseled hundreds of boys. "So, you want to discuss one of my charges? Has he done anything wrong?"

The male agent, Mulder, leaned forward. "Yes, John Towser, and no, he hasn't. Is he still adjusting well to life in the home?"

An image of the eager face formed in her mind's eye. "Oh, yes, and if anything, he's more garrulous by the hour. I wish all my boys were that easy to work with."

The agents glanced at each other before the red-haired pathologist spoke. "Has he exhibited any signs of the flu or TB?"

"You mean this homeless virus that Susan Miles keeps going on about? No. If he's succumbed, it was before he left the streets to live here, and since Carl's outbreak, none of the other boys has suffered from it. But, I've found out you have, Agent Scully."

"Yes. Although I remember very little about it, I'm told it very nearly put me in the hospital last week."

Elizabeth stored this information away, as well as the deeply protective glance Mulder sent her before he resumed his part of the discussion.

"Miss Williams, we would like to know if John is stable enough, mentally that is, to help us in our investigation."

Elizabeth threw her head back, hooting with laughter. "All he's talked about since you left is G-man this, FBI that. If you were to ask for his help now, it would be the best Christmas present that boy could have." Sobering, she entwined her fingers to rest her hands on the desk in front of her. "As far as his mental stability goes, well, as long as he takes his lithium, he'll be fine. TP-101 didn't help him much, according to Nora." The dead doctor's name stuck in her throat.

Scully leaned over to speak in her partner's ear, giving her time to compose herself. "Mulder, we haven't heard from Skinner yet, you know."

Both eyebrows shot up as he smirked. "What! We don't have the official blessing of the powers that be?"

She hit him with a silent 'Mulder!'

"Just consider this a little preliminary work, Scully, no harm intended."

When Elizabeth cleared her throat, they focused in her. "I don't foresee any problems with John helping you out, provided what you have in mind isn't too taxing. Would you like me to bring him in?" Opening the door, she called down the hall for him.

Johnny was pushed forward by the other residents, who had congregated in the passage when the mysterious visitors arrived. He bounced through the door, grinning from ear to ear, looking over his shoulder at the heads around the corner before he sat in a third chair Elizabeth had emptied.

Mulder nodded at the heads before he spoke to the boy. "John, you offered to help us find Nora's murderers when we visited with you last week, and Agent Scully and I have decided that there is something only you can do." He watched the deep blue eyes grow wide. "We think the killers are introducing a virus into the homeless population, then kidnapping them off the streets and out of the shelters for tests. Doctor Samuelson, we believe, somehow found out about it. But we need to see this happening so we can make an arrest. Have you ever been to any of these places?"

Producing a list, Scully handed it to him.

The boy scanned the names. "Yes, Agent Mulder, I know about most of them. Are you really planning on working undercover?"

At their affirmation, he beamed, but Scully cautioned him. "John, this is a serious matter, not a game. The people we suspect are very dangerous, which is why we need you to be our guide to these places, so Agent Mulder and I don't stick out like sore thumbs. You see, not only do we need you to show us the shelters, we need your help to blend in."

Thinking of all the responsibilities he had assumed for his Aunt Sarah, Johnny sobered. "When would you like to begin, Agent Scully?"

She glanced at her partner. "In a few days, John. And John?"

"Yes?"

"How do you feel?"

He straightened. "I feel fine."

She glanced at her hands. "No, I mean, how much time did you spend with Carl before or during his illness?"

"None, Agent Scully."

Mulder leaned forward. "John, are you still seeing things?"

The boy grimaced. "I don't see things, Agent Mulder, and I don't hear voices either."

Scully raised an eyebrow. _Where is he going with this?_

Mulder persisted. "But, John, it's okay to admit that you see things, since I see things too sometimes. Agent Scully doesn't believe me, but I do."

John's eyes rolled towards Elizabeth, then back to them. "Well, I don't." He snapped his mouth shut, adamant.

Scully touched her partner's wrist; they excused themselves, walking down the corridor until the view from both the hallway and the office was blocked. "He won't admit to anything, not with Elizabeth, who can keep him from participating in this little adventure with a single word, right there. Even if he did see things, she said the lithium is working."

Sighing, he ran his hand through his hair. "Okay, I believe that now. I'd like to speak to John by myself, if you could draw Elizabeth into some discussion of the boys. I'm very curious about those visions of his. Until the Seventeenth Century, people like John were used as seers and treated as holy. What if they still are? You may have been right earlier, that there is more at work here than just the Shadows, and John may be the key." He raised his hands to forestall the explosion, but to no avail.

"Mulder! If all the things that we read in his file were true, we could just whisper the right words and fly the killers into jail! We've come so far beyond the days of magic that I can't believe you're taking him seriously."

He placed a hand on her shoulder. "Scully, wait. I'm not saying it's magic so you have to discard all Science from the Descartes to Sagan, not at all. But his visions do have a basis in Jungian psychology. Archetypes, remember? Cultural memories? What if those are real, and John is somehow tapped into them?"

With a sigh, she leaned against the wall. "Okay, I think I can go along with that, for now. I'll draw Elizabeth out and you talk to John. But we can't move on this until we have Skinner's approval. Agreed?"

One long hand rose. "Scout's honor."

She rolled her eyes. "Don't say that, Mulder, or I'll be asking for a certain non-duplicate limb as collateral."

He leaned towards her. "Ooh, you are a wicked, wicked woman, Doctor Scully."

-o-0-o-

New Scotland Yard  
London, England  
Tuesday, December 17, 1996  
5:57 pm

Phoebe Green stopped the film reader to rub her eyes. _I always knew he got it from somewhere._ Max and Caroline Lowenberg had been far different from what she had expected. Mulder had never spoken much about his parents or his childhood, so had it not been for the silent vigils on his sister's birthdays, she would never have known about his family at all.

_But the life she had led during the War!_ The recently declassified accounts of the activities her group had undertaken sounded like something out of John le Carre. Phoebe smiled. If only her life at the Yard were half as exciting, she would have stories to tell her children for years. _Children? Am I that serious about Eric?_ He was probably home right now, speckled with Forest Green or Burnt Umber, creating another of his lovely surreal landscapes.

_Well, girl, back to work._ She sat up straight, then advanced the film another frame. _Yes, there was Caroline's name again._ To be able to speak most of the languages of Europe, as an educated woman from that center of culture could, had placed huge demands on her time. She had found herself shuttling back and forth across the Atlantic in the service of her monolingual adoptive nation almost continuously until 1946. Then she had married Bill Mulder and dropped out of sight. _Does Mulder know any of this about her?_

She spun the control wheel, stopping the celluloid when it reached the year she wanted. It was strange how paths cross, time and time again. Max and Caroline had remembered meeting once briefly in 1945, just after the war's end, but before the women in Caroline's office had all been summarily fired. She had been brought in to aid in the recovery of several medieval manuscripts, all of which now resided in the University of Pennsylvania library. _Wait, Pennsylvania._ Phoebe rewound the film, powered down the reader, and entered her office.

She sorted through the memoranda on new cases that had accumulated on her desk in her absence. _Yes, that's what I remembered._ A robbery of a Sharpsburg bank by three suspects with British accents had flagged the interest of the Yard. Carrying the thinnest of the notices, she headed to the fifth floor to speak with the agent of record. "Richard?"

The Scotsman's ruddy head turned towards her. "Phoebe? I though you were in Germany. Come in and have a seat."

She spread the papers across his desk. "What can you tell me about the robbery in Pennsylvania? Any leads?"

He walked to a side table to collect photos and folders. "I just finished reviewing the case for our CI, so you're in luck; I think I can give you a good idea of the operatives behind it." He chuckled. "Those crazy Americans! Trying to hang onto the Cold War as if it would make all their problems disappear in a puff of smoke."

-o-0-o-

Downtown  
Washington, DC  
Wednesday, December 18, 1996  
9:42 am

Johnny was bouncing in the back seat of the Taurus as he chattered happily at the sights.

Scully and Mulder rolled their eyes at each other, her cocked eyebrow _You're sure this was a good idea?_ was answered with a shrug _Didn't have many options, did we?_.

Between the lack of funds and the holidays, Skinner had found support for the homeless case only to the extent that they would be tracked by a single undercover agent, but no more.

Mulder glanced down at the faded jeans, dirty jogging shoes, and stained down jacket, so different from his usual work attire. His partner wore scuffed, blackened boots, pink polyester pants, and one of his faded, moth-eaten sweaters from his high school days, under a torn overcoat. Waiting at a light, he tapped the sewn crease in the thick fabric as he wrinkled his nose, ribbing her again for the color. She had protested vociferously when John had pulled them off the rack at Goodwill. _At least you'll be easy to spot, Scully._

"Oh, boy, it's the FBI building!" John slid to the left side of the car, pointing out the steam grates in the wide sidewalk. "Those will keep us warm tonight."

Scully closed her eyes. _I hate winter._ It was coming to be the time of year when no matter how many clothes she wore, she was perpetually chilled. With the weight loss from the illness, she knew the next few days on the streets would be like the inner rings of Dante's Inferno, all cold and dark. But Mulder was right, the sooner they finished this case, the sooner they could return to the X-Files.

Pulling into the official FBI lot, Mulder signed the check-out form, then dropped the keys in the kiosk's return box, noting the small sign, 'Back in five minutes.' Slipping out onto the streets, they followed their now somber guide up Pennsylvania Avenue to the Ellipse.

John filled a discarded paper cup with water from a public drinking fountain before he carried it over to a bare patch of ground. He poured the water out, mixing it with the dirt, then waved them over. "You guys are too clean." He smirked. "You first, Agent Mulder."

The tall man stepped up, blanching as cold mud was smeared over his cheeks and forehead. Johnny patted the mess on his clothes, finishing with two handfuls in the agent's hair.

Knowing how fastidious he was with his appearance, Scully stared pointedly at her feet, chewing the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing out loud.

"Agent Scully?" The boy was less certain as he addressed her.

She bent down by the rapidly drying soil to begin marring her own appearance, smearing the clay vigorously into the hated color as she knelt.

"No fair, Scully." Her partner leaned over her to plop some of the mud from his head into her hair and on her cheeks. As she met his gaze, the hazel eyes flashed from amusement to deep concern, no doubt as he recalled the argument they had conducted the previous afternoon in the basement office.

-o-0-o-

He was pacing in front of her desk. "Are you sure about this? I can go in alone so you won't be a target, too."

She stopped herself before remarking that they were both targets now, no matter where they were. She stood in front of him. "We're partners. I don't see Duane Barry or Donnie Phaster anywhere, and the group behind the homeless abductions has nothing in common with the Shadows."

He threw up his hands. "But Scully! How do we know that? Just because the virus contains all terrestrial DNA doesn't mean they couldn't! It's perfectly possible that not all the clandestine government experiments involve aliens and alien-human hybrids." He grasped her shoulders, pleading with his eyes. "Don't do this, Scully. I can't lose you, not again. Stay on the outside, please."

But she had been just as insistent. "Mulder! Don't be so selfish! I'm not letting you out of my sight this time because it would be the perfect opportunity for them to eliminate you once and for all. I can't let you take that risk alone, do you hear?" She paused after each word in the last sentence for emphasis. _No more boxcars, partner. No more calls from X telling me to collect your battered person from a hospital in Iowa in some small town I have to ask the State Troopers directions to. No more!_

He dropped his hands, shaking his head. "You're right. We both have too much at stake to do this any other way." He ran a hand over his face. "At least let's have one good dinner before we start standing in lines, okay?"

-o-0-o-

Stepping back, Mulder banished his fear for her to the back of his mind, then forced himself to joke, but his monotonic stilted phrases betrayed him. "You look beautiful, Scully; Frohike would be overwhelmed by this vision of loveliness I see before me."

Scully responded to his intentions, rather than his tone. "Well Mulder, it beats taking a week of leave, flying to Hawaii and paying good money to lie in mud packs all day."

Confused, Johnny's head turned from one to the other. "That should do fine. You're both good and dirty, so let's go. The shelter on Fourteenth Street will open for lunch soon, and we need to get there before the gangs do."

Mulder started at this new information, his trepidation over his partner's presence obvious to her. "Gangs, John? We didn't hear anything about gangs when we interviewed the shelter administrators."

Johnny continued walking while speaking over his shoulder. "That's because they don't know. The groups only shake down the rest of us out on the street, and expect us to keep our mouths shut once inside one of those Church places. Why do you ask?"

Mulder gave Scully a _You thinking what I'm thinking?_ look, then she caught up with the slender blond boy. "How often do the gangs kill or injure one of the homeless?"

John shrugged. "Not very. It's pointless, you see, unless the person has snitched on them, or unless they want to make an example of someone, but the territories they control are well established. Everyone is terrified of them." As the boy withdrew behind an expressionless mask, they wondered if he was speaking from unpleasant experience again. "Besides, they don't make people disappear."

Mulder nodded. "Otherwise, they wouldn't be an example."

-o-0-o-

Flat #2  
Walford, London  
Wednesday, 5:45 pm

Phoebe shrugged reluctantly out of Eric's enfolding arms. She had driven directly from Heathrow to the Yard, letting the anticipation of their reunion buoy her until the evening.

"Luv, why didn't you call? I would have fixed a real Jamaican special for tonight, not my usual bachelor fare. But, no matter. While my girl sleeps late, I'll round up the..." He tilted her chin up, concerned. "You will be here for the weekend, won't you?"

She closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against his chest, willing him to understand. "I'm sorry, I have to leave Friday afternoon, late. Max and Caroline will be back in Vienna by then..."

"Oh! Phoebe, when did you move to first names with his mother?"

As he turned his back on her for the first time in their relationship, she caught a glimpse of his temper. She threw her arms around his waist, shoving aside her own fear, struggling not to burst into tears. "It's not like that, Eric. Max nearly collapsed outside Dachau and I helped her, so she asked."

He pulled her tenderly around to his chest, enfolding her again. "Sorry, Sweet. I shouldn't worry, you're only doing your job. I couldn't bear to think he would steal you away now."

She stood on tiptoe to kiss his nose. "No worries, My Heart, no worries. I'm yours for keeps if you'll have me."

He lifted her over his head. "Luv, a reverse proposal! How quaint! And yes, I will, so don't you fret either. Now, let me wash my head to get the paint off, and I'll treat my girl at a little place I know."

-o-0-o-

Amused by Phoebe's curled lip, Eric dipped the strips of roasted chicken in a fiery green jalapeno sauce before gulping them down. "Try it, Inspector, it's what keeps me hopping. But this Max is something of an art collector, you say?"

She sipped her glass of Red Stripe, then nodded. "Was, anyway. He collected Steens with his first wife, Thea, but the paintings are in Haifa now."

He leaned back, his dark eyes fixed on the wall behind her. "Oh, *that* Max Lowenberg, I thought the name was familiar. He bought two of my pieces when I was still in Jamaica, back when he was a lawyer and I was a struggling accountant whose mind was elsewhere. My firm let me go shortly afterwards, so his money kept me in beans and rice long enough to get started."

She squeezed his hand. "Eric, I didn't know you were anything but an artist."

He glanced grimly at the approaching waiter. "I have a degree from the University of Florida, but my mother had pushed me into it, and I hated it. She never believed I could make it as a painter. But I proved her wrong, what?"

Smiling, they began placing their orders.

-o-0-o-

Podhowitz House  
Vienna, Austria  
Thursday, December 19, 1996  
11:13 am

"So the Inspector from Scotland Yard turned out to be the one, eh?" Isaac passed a teacup of amber liquid to his brother-in-law.

Max accepted it, stirring in a spoonful of Demerara, then a dash of cream before carrying the drink to his wife, who was waiting on the sofa.

Caroline smiled up at him as she accepted the China cup and saucer. "Yes, she was. I can understand why Fox was so deeply attached to her. One thing I do know about my boy is that he only pretends to be attracted by sexy women with long legs and curvaceous bodies. But it's the intelligent ones who capture his heart. His senior year in high school was the only time he was not morose and withdrawn." She placed the cup gingerly on the saucer in her lap. "You see, he was in a furious competition for valedictorian with Janice Peters, and she was all he talked about, even after she beat him by 0.02 points on her GPA. But, poor Fox, she spent all her time studying Physics and Calculus in preparation for MIT, and barely knew he existed."

Max and Isaac chuckled as she spoke.

Her husband leaned over. "And Doctor Dana Scully?"

She shrugged. "I know what those two say, but her mother and I can always hope."

Isaac sipped his tea, intrigued. "This Scully is his partner?"

Max put the China down on the side table. "Undergraduate degree in Physics and licensed pathologist. You should have seen him leap across the room when she appeared down in Mexico. He was like a drowning man reaching for a life preserver."

Isaac lifted an eyebrow as he sobered. "I hate to interrupt, but we were talking about Phoebe, not Doctor Scully, although from your words, either would be fine companions for my nephew. She will be appearing here tomorrow?" He looked from one to the other as they affirmed his statement.

Max brought the teapot back to freshen his wife's cup. "Actually, Caroline, that Eric Conners of hers is quite the artist. I met him in Jamaica when I was conducting an multi-national merger, and bought two of his early pieces. Wonderful things. He had a natural flair for Van Gogh type landscapes, so I bought them while he was still an accountant. I'm glad to hear he's made a go of the painting career. He was a miserable bookkeeper who almost sank the deal with a few poorly placed decimal points."

Isaac and Caroline both smiled, remembering the days when Daniel's house rang with similar conversations.

Caroline countered. "Well, dear, perhaps both his greater and lesser talents will be useful to us over the next few weeks, while we flush out these shady characters on our tail."

Isaac laughed out loud. "They're down there in the alley still, you know. Perhaps we should send out some eclairs and coffee to keep them warm."

-o-0-o-

Pennsylvania Avenue  
Washington, DC  
Thursday, 7:30 pm

Unbeknownst to the comfortably ensconced trio, the son and partner they were so merrily conjoining would have been grateful for the hypothetical pastry and beverage. Early in the winter, the jet stream had dipped to Georgia, driving out the cooling air of the fall to emplace a dry Arctic mass. The temperature hovered in the twenties, so the homeless had crowded the shelters. But Johnny and the two agents were not among them.

Mulder leaned close to her. "Can you hear that, Scully?" The partners were crouched behind the protecting wall for the Archives Metro escalator.

Scully cocked her head, listening. "Yes, Mulder, it sounds like our old friend has snagged another victim."

From a ragged lump on the steam grate, a familiar hoarse cough emanated, so the three slipped forward to investigate.

"Hey, hands off!"

Scully had reached out to touch the shiny forehead only to have her fingers nearly crushed by the gloved hand.

"This is my corner, not yours, so go away."

"But, you're sick, you have a fever, you should see a doctor."

One eye peered out from the rags, then two. They were sunken, set in a bearded face which regarded them suspiciously. "It's doctors who made me like this, so don't send me back to those quacks."

Scully had to bite her lip to keep from blurting out that she was a doctor. _Titles and degrees don't mean a thing out here, Dana._

But her partner intervened. "Sorry buddy, we just heard you coughing. What do you mean, doctors made you like this?"

The heap of rags shifted, assuming a human shape. "I was just fine with my Ma and Pa until some school administrator decided she knew better, took me away, and sent me to a mental hospital."

Scully touched her partner's shoulder, her eyes transmitting her conclusions. _He's not what we want._

They backed away as Rags continued to drone on.

His blue eyes dark, Johnny looked back over his shoulder. "He's one of the first people I met on the street, and I could have ended up like that, but I'm okay now." The quiet tone was both reassurance for the speaker and matter-of-fact.

Mulder patted his shoulder. "Yes, John, you're okay. Elizabeth told Scully that you were enjoying school?"

"Oh, yes, Agent Mulder, but this is fun too. It won't last forever, and I will be helping you out. I won't miss much, since I have so much to catch up on, but I could take Chemistry this next semester, Elizabeth promised. It's so much like math that it has to be interesting..."

The partners frowned as the stream of words rolled over them.

-o-0-o-

Fourteenth Street Shelter  
Washington, DC  
Thursday, 9:14 pm

"Hey."

Scully jumped when the hand stroked her face. Since she was in the first stages of sleep, she grabbed the fingers, her self-defense techniques uppermost in her mind. _No, wait, it's..._ She opened her eyes. "Sorry, Mulder."

He was wearing his all-too-familiar mask of anxiety.

She realized she had him off his guard. "I'm not used to being petted at night." _That should snap him out of it._

The eyes flashed as he nimbly parried the remark. "Well, that's something I can certainly remedy, Scully."

Housed in the basement of a Baptist Church, the shelter had separate quarters for the men and women, to keep the support of the more conservative members of the host congregation. It occupied three large cinder block rooms, one a dining room with the trestle tables that they had visited on Halloween, the other two sleeping quarters, each containing four long rows of cots. John had pointed out the broken lock on the door between the men's and women's bathrooms, through which the tall agent had reached his partner.

She pulled herself to the edge of the cot, concerned that his fears had driven him here. "I'm okay, if you were worried. It's so noisy I've had trouble falling asleep, but you should go back to the men's side, before we call too much attention to ourselves."

He responded with a curt nod before slipping his arms around her shoulders, one hand sliding her head over until her ear was directly below his mouth. "Don't yell, I just read that note Langly slipped me on my tray when he served us our dinners tonight. Two of the missing men have reappeared in Xenia, Ohio."

She clenched her jaw, but still it took all her will not to cry out, so she grasped his shoulder, squeezing as hard as she could. "What?"

He was nodding, his nose pushing her hair back and forth as he did so.

"Don't tell me you think this somehow involves aliens now." She was whispering, but her intensity disturbed the tiny girl in the cot by her head.

Mulder caught the movement out of the corner of his eye, so cupped his hand over her ear, muffling his soft speech still further. "No, I don't. The men clearly remember everything that transpired, from the time they left the shelters, through the care they received from *human* doctors, to their return via truck. Further, each was in the throes of the virus when he was taken. I think someone would like the uninitiated to believe so, but you and I have debunked too many false abductee stories for this to distract even me."

She relaxed, soaking up his warmth, feeling the chill from thirty-six hours in sub-freezing conditions deep in her bones.

"You really okay, Scully? Your face still feels like ice." He rubbed her ear between his thumb and forefinger.

"You know me, Mulder, reptilian to the bone." She shifted closer to him. "I'll be fine; I have to warm up soon. Where are the men now?"

"Langly E-mailed the information to Skinner, and the Ohio office is holding them until he gets out there. One way or another, we'll nail these turkeys, Scully." He looked up at the next cot, where a woman was tending a squalling toddler, then frowned. "I don't see how you put up with this. I'd sneak you back to the men's side, if I could, since all we hear over there are snores." Squeezing her briefly, he sat back. She tucked the flannel covering up around her neck while he slipped away.

Even though she would never complain, Mulder knew his partner was rail-thin from her illness, her immune system barely recovered. He was relieved that they had to come off the streets tonight at the Gunman's signal. _The last thing any of us needs is a bad case of hypothermia or to pick up something else from these people._ He rubbed his chest as he pulled the thin blanket over himself on the cot. Their dinner sat like a lump in his stomach. He grimaced, remembering John announcing upon their arrival that this was one of the 'better places.' _Are we too late? Is the experiment over and is the FBI being brought in at the last minute to assist in the cover-up?_ He felt a tugging on his blanket.

"Agent Mulder?" John appeared beside him. "You should see this."

Mulder slid out, fully dressed still, having taken the boy's warning that his scuffed-up jogging shoes and smelly jacket would be highly prized quantities. He followed the slender figure to one of the few windows, where they watched as two stretchers, each occupied, were loaded into a truck. When one of the supine figures coughed, a voice in the dark consoled him, telling him that the hospital they would reach shortly knew 'just how to handle this.' _Two leave, and two more are brought in._ The outside doors were locked for the night, so Mulder was powerless, only able to observe.

-o-0-o-

National Portrait Gallery  
Washington, DC  
Friday, December 20, 1996  
2:14 pm

The stocky man with a full mustache studied the exhibition flyer he had purchased, as he waited for his superior to arrive and debrief him. Since he was estranged from his family, and the surveillance was expected to run through Christmas, he had volunteered for this assignment.

An outsider would pay no attention to the man in well-made, imported dark wool suit, over a white shirt and red silk tie, or to the grey-haired fellow who walked up to him, his apparel as non-distinctive.

Both were here on business, not pleasure, so the tall senior with aquiline features spoke without prologue. "How far has the investigation of our charges progressed?"

Prepared to give his report, the one who was seated rose as the older man waited before him. "Not very. They're working on blending in with the local homeless population, so they've stopped by four of the shelters under investigation over the past three days. I believe they witnessed the removal of two test subjects last night."

They wandered through the gallery, avoiding the tourists.

The recent arrival glanced over. "Oh?"

The younger man nodded. "They have not left the vicinity of the Fourteenth Street Shelter, but I don't see what they will learn there."

"Ah. And the woman?"

The younger man shrugged. "She seems a little worse for wear, to be frank, Sir. The virus may have affected her most of all."

"I see. If she weakens any further, we'll have to bring them in, won't we? Thank you. I shall speak with you in a day or so."

-o-0-o-

Somewhere over Switzerland  
Friday, 6:45 pm

Phoebe shifted in her seat. "Eric, you really didn't have to come. I could have brought in an Inspector to help with this, Richard McCoombs, for instance. He's already aware of many of the details of this case, and I won't have to worry about you."

He clasped her hand, entwining their fingers. "No, Luv, you don't understand. Max Lowenberg helped me when no one else would, and if he is in any danger, then I should be there." He shook their hands. "Besides, how can I bypass a free trip to the city of Klimt and Gerstl with my girl?"

Phoebe sighed, relieved. "Eric, Caroline wanted you to be there, but I just didn't feel right asking you for your help, given our personal connection. This is a complicated deception we wish to create, and only an accomplished portraitist could pull it off. You're sure you can copy the painting?"

He smiled. "Of course, Sweet. That's one of the ways an artist learns, by making detailed copies of the Masters. When I was making duplicates to support myself after first moving to England, I found, if I studied a painting long enough, I could almost get inside the creator's head. You see how the colors were layered and textured, which reveals both the composition as it was originally conceived, and how creative variations were handled. Are you three sure this is what they are after?"

"I don't know, Eric, that's one of the reasons I wanted you to stay home. Caroline won't confirm or deny any of the information I relayed to her, claiming to still be bound by some fifty-one year old oath..."

"Hey, don't knock faithfulness, Phoebe. I intend to keep a certain vow at least that long."

She glanced down at the diamond solitaire on her left hand. _I never expected this. It must have cost the rest of his profits from the show._ "Eric, please. She was involved in some high level work, at least from what the Fiche records told me, but with all the women being let go, it should have ended there. She acts as if some of what she was involved in is still going on, and it may well be. Otherwise..."

The pilot's warning of turbulence interrupted her, so they buckled in as the plane began dipping and turning.

-o-0-o-

Near the Ellipse  
Washington, DC  
Saturday, December 21, 1996  
2:45 am

"John? Are you sure this is where you saw the man?" Mulder had finally convinced the boy that they were aware of his visions, so he had led the partners back here.

The three of them were tucked into the roots of the oak, Scully shivering slightly, even with the extra layers she had picked up at the shelter the previous night.

Johnny nodded. "Yes, Agent Mulder, only I keep telling you, he was a deer, too. So just keep quiet, and maybe we'll see him again."

Mulder twisted around to speak to his partner. "Scully? You okay?"

She glared at him. "I'm fine, Mulder. I'll just sit here freezing until Herne the Hunter appears and steals me away. You ready for that?"

He gave her a puzzled look. "Herne?"

"It's from those Celtic legends my father used to tell us kids, remember? Herne the Hunter is the man who is a deer. The woods are his kingdom, although I'm don't know why he should leave Windsor Forest and take up residence in downtown DC."

His eyes half-lidded, Mulder shrugged. "Oh, downsizing affects everyone, even divinities, Scully. Maybe he's taken a job lobbying for the environmentalists."

Allowing herself a slight smirk, she rolled her eyes. "Only you would try this on the longest night of the year."

Mulder shifted closer to her. "You're right. It *is* the Solstice."

She crossed her arms. "Yes, the original Mid-Winter's festival, not Christmas, as you may recall."

John glared over his shoulder at the agents. _Why aren't they paying attention?_ "You guys, look!" He pointed into the dark.

As they watched, three lights bobbed towards them. Mulder could eventually distinguish three human shapes, one an older woman, her grey hair pulled back, one a bald man in white, and a third in a grey suit, whose face was obscured. When the man in white called out to him, Mulder walked towards the light, only dimly hearing his partner cautioning him.

Scully rose from her perch on the oak's roots. "Mulder, where are you going? John, what do you see?"

The dark-haired agent sensed that the man wanted to speak with him alone, so walked for some distance after the figure, attempting to catch a glimpse of the apparition's face. Finally, the specter stopped moving away so Mulder could focus on the features, but did not recognize them, not immediately.

The spirit reached out to communicate. "You know me, Son, or should I say know of me."

Mulder frowned, then a shredded photo he had held in his partner's apartment appeared in his mind. "Captain Scully! What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be trying to talk to Scully?"

He sensed a denial from the shade. "I've come to you for two purposes, Fox Mulder, one for your father and one for myself."

"Was that other..."

"Yes, Son, it was. But there's so much he wants to say, and we may not have the chance, you see. Your young friend will be making a choice soon, at the end of the halcyon days, and one of his choices will close the Gateway."

"The Gateway? What Gateway?"

The spirit became impatient, so Mulder stilled himself to listen. "That's not important, what is important is this: Your father has spent the last few weeks with your sister, visiting her whenever she descends into sleep or a trance."

"So my sister is..."

"Alive and well, yes. He told her you are looking for her, desperately looking for her, if I might add."

Mulder turned away. "No, Sir, I haven't been. I've been too wrapped up in..."

"Trying to stay alive, Son, yes, we know. We've watched you from the Over There, and we know. We mean in your heart, you see. You've never given up, and one day, you will find her, with my daughter's help. But before you do that, you need to make peace with your Past."

Mulder closed his eyes, feeling hope leap like a wild stag in his heart. "You mean with my Mother? But I can't reach her, it's like..." He spun around, holding out his hands.

The spirit radiated affection and deep sympathy. "A reflection in a still pool of water? Yes, your Mother is part of that, but she is not all we mean."

Mulder felt a tingling in his skull. "What are you..."

"You must make peace with your Past, all of it. You have a new friend who can help you, both with your Mother and your Past. Let him."

Mulder covered his face with his hands. "I don't understand." He was whispering, on the verge of tears. "Please tell me where Sam is, please."

As the tingling enveloped his whole body, he felt tranquil. In his mind's eye, an image of a beautiful woman, with a mane of long wavy chestnut hair, materialized. Her face resembled that of the clone who had appeared at his Father's home, yet it was sharper and more radiant. The tresses which flowed unbound down her back were whipping in a breeze, over a long sky blue robe that billowed and clung. He could see light reflecting off features so like his own, the amber tones flickering, too strong to be a candle. He suddenly knew it must be a fire.

He reached towards the woman, but she was only in his mind, so his hands grasped merely empty air. Sam was walking now, circling flames that curled themselves around a single prodigious log, then she lifted a copper chalice off the ground. She sipped once, turned the cup over, then the light flared at the added fuel.

Mulder fell to his knees, tears flowing unheeded. When he could speak, he looked up. "Thank you. Thank you so much. But this looks like some sort of ritual she's performing?" He sensed affirmation from the phantom.

"She's seeking, just as you are, but in her own way, and not with the resources at your disposal."

Mulder fixed his eyes on the spectral face. "But you're a Catholic, and the ritual doesn't look Christian at all."

The apparition emitted amusement. "Why should that matter to you, Fox Mulder, who will have nothing to do with any religion? There is some piece of the truth in all of them, if you only look; but, no, it isn't. I respect it simply because it was too strong to be eliminated by the Crusaders and the Inquisitors, and I honored it every Halloween when I told my Starbuck and her siblings those Celtic legends of Fionn and Mabon. Christmas may be the Birthday of the Christ, but the specific day of the year has nothing to do with my Faith. Eventually, even the Popes had to recognize this time of ending and renewal by assigning a feast of paramount significance to it. Not all good things come down from above; some spring up from below."

Pushing himself to his feet, Mulder brushed off his knees, feeling the tingling in his right shoulder.

But there was more for the agent to hear. "To my second purpose: I just wanted to thank you for standing by my Starbuck. She needs a good friend, you know."

Mulder shook his head. "I haven't been good enough; I've let them take her twice." His breath caught. "I'm sorry, Sir, the first time I was too late, and the second time, well, I don't even know when the second time was."

"No, Son, you're not omnipotent. You brought her back the first time, and have tried your best for the others. You know that, inside."

The agent stepped back, wondering if this kindly spirit had heard his cruel words in Comity, or his accusations before she shot him, or the many instances when he had cut her off by stalking away in the middle of a sentence.

The tingling touched his chest under his sternum.

"We were only thinking of your heart. You have so much pain, Son, and so does she. But you two understand that pain and can help each other work through it..."

Mulder gasped. "You don't mean..."

"No, you really don't understand. That we don't mean, since you two are bonded by what you have endured together, and are closer to each other than to your families or your friends, what few you have. For the tribulations coming in your lives, this is as it should be."

Mulder stared at the ground. "Thank you, Sir. Sometimes I feel..." As his right arm tingled, he sensed sympathy and support.

"How confusing it must be for young people today, thinking there is only one kind of love that means anything." Mulder turned to leave. "Wait, there's more I need to tell you, or to be exact, that you need to tell Starbuck."

Suddenly anxious for his partner, he closed his eyes and inhaled. "Yes, Sir?"

The tingling permeated both shoulders. "Tell her I was always proud of her."

He jumped. "I will, Sir, I will."

-o-0-o-

"Mulder, where are you going? John, what do you see?" Scully watched the two men walk away.

"Let them go, Dana."

She turned to the voice. "Who are you?"

The apparition danced before her. "You don't know me, Doctor Scully, but I'm Fox's father, Bill Mulder."

_I must be so cold I'm beginning to hallucinate._

"This is no hallucination, child, just a lonely spirit looking to give a mortal some peace."

She jumped. "You mean me? But I've already come to terms with Melissa's death..."

"I know you have, Dana. But you still feel like the responsibility of the world rests on your slender shoulders. That's not true, and you need to lay some of your burdens down, before they break even your sturdy back."

"But I have to be strong and responsible! What if Mulder..."

The specter reached towards her, but his hand was form only, so passed over her shoulder like a wisp of night air. "My son depends on you, to be sure, but he is also more than willing to help you. You should know that by now, Dana. He won't think less of you if you share your troubles with him, and he's tried to tell you that, now and again, in my boy's own peculiar way." She sensed amusement and resignation.

"But Sir, he needs my help so much! He'd fly off on some tangent and get himself killed if I weren't there for him, and he can't build up a case methodically, like an agent should. He sees through to a conclusion, yes, but without proof, we can never show that his ideas are correct."

"He knows that, child, which is why he works with you, not on his own anymore, as he also tried to tell you not too long ago. Before he met you, he usually landed in far worse trouble, always off chasing his UFO's. Because of you, his self-destructive times are fewer and further between than I could ever stop him from in his youth."

Both her eyebrows shot up on her forehead. "Mulder? He was more self-destructive?" Sensing affirmation, she waved at the shade. "I don't think I want to know."

"Don't misunderstand me, we never feared for his sanity, but he was always sabotaging himself, little by little. He deserves peace, as do you, Dana Katherine Scully. I need you to give my boy a message, if you would."

_Oh, well, Dana, at least this hallucination has a point._

"Please tell Fox I love him. It's the hardest thing a Father can say to his Son, and I never was able to tell him while I was alive. I may never have this chance again. Please."

She nodded, thinking of how much her father's love meant to her, then felt relief wash over her.

"Oh, and thank you for standing by him all these years. He was always a solitary child, but you've given him some reason to connect to others."

"But we're not..."

Now she sensed impatience. "Nor should you be. My boy is battling too many dragons, both within and without, for him to be able to take on the beasts that Englishwoman planted in his soul. I'm afraid I never set a good example for him either; you were raised in a close family, with unconditional love and acceptance. His mother and I never gave that to each other, and being the sensitive boy he is, he felt that absence more deeply than either of us."

"But Sam I thought..."

"Oh yes, his little sister loves him very much, but she couldn't make up for the lack of his parents, and besides, she's far away from here. I did make certain they would never harm her, even if I could never see her while I still lived."

Scully frowned. "Then she is alive? He's not searching in vain?"

"Yes, he will find her, with your help. But, all in good time, Dana Scully, all in good time. It's late and we need to go now."

The phantom vanished, leaving her standing alone and cold under the bare branches of the old oak.

-o-0-o-

It was just the three of them again, Johnny thoughtful, and for once, blessedly silent.

Mulder's somber face was streaked with tears, but he was completely focused on his shivering partner's back. "Scully?" His hands rested on her arms, the solidity of his touch buoying her flagging strength.

She turned to face him, noticing the puffy eyelids. "Mulder, I may be hallucinating, but I think I've just spent the past few minutes with your Father. If it was your Dad, I'm supposed to let you know he loves you."

He gasped, then pulled her to him, enveloping her. "Scully, I haven't been hallucinating, and I *know* I've just spent time with your Father. He showed me Sam, and he wanted me to tell you he was always proud of you."

Confused, she began to back away. Her exhaustion broke down her reserves, finding herself clutching him for dear life. "Mulder, thank you. It's so cold."

His voice, already hoarse from the dry air and his emotions, was muffled by her hair. "I know, Scully. We're going home, at least for tonight. I don't think we'll learn anything further out here."

-o-0-o-

Podhowitz House  
Saturday, 8:26 am

"Max!" Eric clasped the outstretched hand of his one-time benefactor. "Good to see you again!"

Phoebe and Eric had taken a roundabout tour of the city the previous evening, and now stood outside Benjamin's home.

"And you as well, Eric. Your Inspector told us you've had your own show. Congratulations." He noticed the ring on Phoebe's finger before he called over his shoulder, up the stairs. "Oh, Caroline, I see more felicitations are in order."

Caroline descended, delighted when she spotted the diamond. "Come, dears, we'll have a toast."

Tucking her under his arm, Max beamed down at his wife. It seemed that in this vibrant city of her childhood, she had finally put her dark life in America behind her. Now she was blossoming into the role that time had stripped from her as mistress of the great family house.

But the Inspector was all seriousness. "No, Caroline, I must speak with you, urgently. It's about Mulder. I think he's in greater danger than he realizes."

Caroline's intensity appeared, suddenly becoming as old as every minute in her seventy-six years.

-o-0-o-

"So this is the beauty you need me to copy." Stepping back, Eric whistled. "You had some fine pieces, you and Thea."

The portrait of the artist's wife as Isis, her arms lovingly cradling their infant son as Horus, surrounded by linen-clad attendants, was in the basement of the Podhowitz home. Down here, the temperature and humidity were controlled, one of the conditions for the loan of the late Nineteenth Century work.

"You say one of your Steens was stolen?"

Max was standing by the painting, lost in the memories surrounding its purchase. "Hum? Yes, it was. Given the problems in Israel right now, the police haven't had the manpower to devote to pursuing a lost work of art. So, since it may tie in with our mysterious Bavarian friend, I volunteered to aid in the investigation, with the help of yourself and Phoebe, of course."

A jeweler's eyepiece pressed into his right socket, Eric leaned in to examine the goddess's glittering collar. "The only problem I foresee is with the gilding on the canvas. It looks to have been electroplated, and I'm no expert in that. Won't the metal be easy to date?"

Max smiled. "Actually, that won't be. The lead in the solder underneath decays slowly enough that we are well within the first ten percent of its half-life, so they won't be able to tell the forgery from it. We had to scramble to find canvas of the right age and provenance, though." He pointed to a row of tubes. "These too are historically accurate. We've even scraped a bit of the pigments off the original and mixed them in with the duplicates, to fool any chemical analyses."

Eric mounted a spare piece of canvas to begin testing the old paints. "There will be a specific flow I'll need to adjust to, Max. I'll try not to waste them."

The older man shook his head. "Not to worry. Here." He held out several pots. "These equivalents have the same viscosity, so you can experiment until you feel comfortable." Max unfurled several full-sized X-rays of the painting. "You can plan your outlines from the depth images of the original."

Eric pored over the films, noticing the sliding position of one of the attendant's arms with each successive application of colors. "How thorough should I be? I can duplicate each layer fairly quickly, if you like."

Max shrugged. "Spend the majority of your time on the uppermost, of course, but these collectors are young, hungry, and love technology, unlike the fellows I bought and sold with, who would have known the artist's techniques themselves. So, take your time, and do your best." Max patted Eric's shoulder. "I'll leave you to it, my friend."

-o-0-o-

Apartment 5  
Alexandria, VA  
Saturday, 5:49 am

"Scully." She was up to her neck in hot, soapy water, luxuriating in the warmth, her cell phone by her ear. It had been a frustrating hour of running and begging before they could find a cab that would accept three smelly customers with hard cash.

Mulder had taken Johnny back to Apartment 42, where he standing on the grey tiles of his kitchen floor, calling her. "How are you doing, Scully?"

She turned the left valve with her toes, running hot water until even the very top corners of her windows were completely steamed up. "I'll be fine, Mulder. Let me have a good morning's sleep and Agent Scully will be ready to pound the pavement until we catch these guys. How's John?"

Mulder leaned out his kitchen entrance to check on the boy. "Oh, he's parked on my sofa, watching videos."

She sat up, sloshing water over her white tiles. "Mulder! Not your tapes..."

He pursed his lips. "No, he's picked out 'The Day the Earth Stood Still' and seems fascinated, but I expected him to go for 'Star Wars' or 'ET'. You still in your tub? It's been over an hour since the cab dropped you off." He tossed the remainder of the pizza back in the box, then slid it in the refrigerator.

"Yes, I am. It took me far longer than I expected to scrub myself clean, and now I'm just starting to thaw out. I am *not* wearing those awful slacks out on the street, I have some old paint-splattered trousers of my own." She settled back, careful not to dip the phone in the suds as the water level rose.

He grinned. "Ooh, need me to wash your back? John should be occupied for at least another hour or so."

"Mulder!"

He smirked at her quick response. _She is feeling better._

"How long can I sleep in this morning?"

"How long do you want?"

"Does Sunday sound good?"

He snorted. "It's okay with me, but Byers left me an E-mail that Skinner will be back in town this afternoon, and wants to meet with us ASAP. That's why I called." _And to check on my frozen partner._

She reluctantly climbed out of the tub to wrap herself in her bathrobe. "Okay, pick me up around eleven thirty. Five hours sleep in my own bed is better than eight at a shelter."

"Yeah, right."

-o-0-o-

Apartment Complex  
Alexandria, VA  
Saturday, 11:15 am

Johnny peered at the brick building. "So this is where Agent Scully lives."

His phone on his ear, Mulder nodded. _She hasn't answered any of my calls._ "Stay here, John, I need to make sure Scully is okay." As he ended the call, he slipped the black unit back into his jacket.

The extremely cold air was forecast to move out of the area over the next few days, but the temperatures had already warmed to just above freezing.

John watched as Mulder disappeared inside the building.

-o-0-o-

"Scully, it me. You all right in there?" He pounded on the door one final time before reaching in his pocket for his keys. "Scully? Scully?"

His heart racing, he checked first the living room, then the kitchen and bath, before turning the knob on her closed bedroom door. _She shuts her bedroom door when she's alone, too?_

Scully was still in bed, her slight body in a compact ball, the down comforter wrapped tightly around her neck.

Mulder sat beside her, shaking her gently by her shoulder. "Scully, wake up." _Please, don't be sick again._ He felt her forehead, expelling his breath once he touched cool skin.

Pulling back the covers, he blanched. She had fallen asleep straight from the tub, in only her bathrobe, a thick blue towel tucked in around her neck. He reached for her shoulder again, but stopped, dropping the hand on her side.

The dark patches under her eyes had deepened since Thanksgiving, so he considered pulling rank as Senior Agent to leave her here for a few more hours. _You want to stay a whole man, Mulder?_ While he had been given a week of enforced inactivity to recuperate, his partner had pushed herself back into work almost immediately upon regaining consciousness. _No, not inactivity._ That week had been a living hell for him, fearing that the virus would affect her far more severely than it had him.

He glanced over at the arm of the sofa projecting into the hallway. If they didn't have to contend with John and Skinner, he might simply have walked out to her living room to settle in himself. _Not the first time, Mulder._

He would talk seriously with their boss about that leave when this case was finished. Further, as personally distasteful as it was, he might take Benjamin and Miriam Jenkins up on the offer of a visit, just so she could be somewhere warm for a few days. _You'll need a really good excuse for that one._ He sighed, then shook her by the shoulder gently, calling her name in a whisper. When the second nudge brought no response, he tugged one arm out from under the pillow, then rubbed her fingers vigorously between his two palms until her eyelids flickered.

She stirred. "Mulder, what are you doing here?" She squeezed his hand briefly before drawing hers out, needing both to remove the damp terrycloth.

His eyes held hers for a few moments until she had awakened fully, then he rubbed his face with both hands. _I should just have let her sleep._ Dropping his arms on his knees, he focused on her face. "It's eleven fifteen, Scully, and you weren't answering your calls."

She checked the nightstand, noting that, just as she had left it on Wednesday, her alarm clock was turned off. The portable phone was lying on the table, where she had dropped it after her conversation with Mulder, the batteries now fully discharged. "Oh, no. I forgot to set my alarm. It's that late? I'll get dressed." She slipped out the other side of the bed to begin collecting clothes.

The bathroom door clicked shut, then her voice emerged through the ash. "Where are we meeting Director Skinner?"

"His flight arrives at National in twenty minutes." He spoke while walking over to stand in the hall. "We're to pick him up there and talk over lunch. Are you sure you're up to this? You were really out of it."

Running a comb through her hair, she opened the door, surprised he was directly outside. "Of course, I just haven't slept well for several nights. I'll be okay." She was wearing her spattered jeans and the boots, but had added several layers under his brown sweater, then stopped to dig in her dresser for a second pair of gloves. "Let's go."

-o-0-o-

Podhowitz Living Room  
Saturday, 10:49 am

"I'm sorry, Caroline, but I can come to no other conclusions, given the evidence available to me at the Yard." Phoebe leaned back in the overstuffed chair, letting her words sink in.

Deeply afraid for his nephew, Issac was uncertain as to how they should proceed.

His sister, however, was formulating a plan of action, but she wanted to run her thoughts past the others. "Fox is a bright boy, and he has Margaret's daughter as his ally. Between them, they will figure out a defense against my old colleagues. But I'd like to give them some insurance, as well as remind that Ancient Chimney that I am neither enfeebled nor senile, and I will tell what I know if he threatens my son."

In a few simple sentences, she elucidated her idea, which both delighted and petrified her husband. "Caroline! Are you sure this is the only way? You're seventy-six, not twenty three."

She patted his hand. "Of course, Max, my dear. That's why the Inspector will handle the physical aspects, and leave the mind games to me. Those were always what intrigued me anyway, and besides, you and Isaac are too inexperienced to be handling firearms."

-o-0-o-

Down in the alley, the two spies checked the windows, one warily eyeing the other, each only dimly cognizant of his counterpart's agenda. Neither heard the stealthy approach behind them until it was too late. The middle-aged American suddenly found himself in a hammerlock, the muzzle of Phoebe's revolver pressed into his neck.

All avenging fury, Caroline Lowenberg appeared before him. "Greetings to you and your superior from an old comrade-in-arms. I'd like you to take a message back to him, if you would be so kind."

His eyes bulging in terror, the man nodded.

"Tell him I know what he's up to, and I consider it a violation of the oath we swore during the war." She shook her head. "You may not be aware of it, but your superior was at one time a kindly and well-liked fellow, something of a geek, his mind full of electron tubes and five-digit binary number sequences."

When the man's breath caught, Caroline knew she had the advantage. "But now, he deals only in death, and for what end? Enough!"

She plucked his pocket recorder out of his jacket to speak directly into it. "Well, my Mystery Man, so we will meet again, at least by voice. Did you enjoy incinerating my home? You or one of your minions tried to kill me, and had I not been quick and stealthy, you would have succeeded. But just as my son was a dead man two springs ago and survived, I was a dead woman and have survived."

Phoebe emitted what she hoped would be a prompting huff.

Caroline nodded. _So down to business._ "You bound me to silence, now I bind you to inaction with this: I have my secrets all recorded and safe, locked away where no one will ever hear of them, unless something happens to any of the ones I love. Then, whether I am dead or alive, they will be published in several major world newspapers. Be certain of that." Caroline clicked off the recorder, then dropped it back in the man's pocket.

He had found his wits, so was beginning to struggle. "It won't work, you know. No one threatens him and gets away with it."

She held her head up proudly. "My son has, and now I have."

At the sound of approaching feet, the American began wrestling with Phoebe, knocking her gun out of her hand, but he was too late. On cue, Isaac had notified the police, who led the spy away.

Once the alley was quiet, Caroline spoke in German towards the shadows. The Bavarian, silent throughout, waited for the two women to reenter the house, then slipped out of the darkness, her warning ringing in his ears.

-o-0-o-

Union Station  
Basement Level  
Saturday, 12:51 pm

Walter Skinner leaned across the wobbly plastic table toward his two agents. "I'm returning to the Bureau this afternoon to write up a justification for more assistance for you two. After what those two bums told me, you need a more official presence on the street."

Johnny had been dispatched to watch one of the movies at the Multiplex Theater in the center of the cavernous facility. The basement level of the old train station had been converted to an eatery, food stands along every wall. With the constant noise from the crowds and trains, covert monitoring of their conversation would be impossible. So, for an hour or so, the partners could consult with the Assistant Director.

Mulder was responding negatively to his boss' suggestion. "But, Sir, if we do that, we risk drawing attention to ourselves. I've already phoned in the license number on that truck, and the Gunmen are running the plates as well."

Skinner wondered what those three strange men had done to win his paranoid agent's complete trust before he turned to the red-haired pathologist. "Agent Scully?"

She frowned. "For once, Sir, I must agree with Mulder." The two men started, each surprised for different reasons, so she held up her hands, palms towards them. "Look, the men who were taken Thursday night were already suffering from the virus. We know from our interviews that some were healthy and some ill before they disappeared, but all were unexceptional in any way, which is why it took so long for us to work up a hypothesis about the disappearances. If we are suddenly joined by other 'homeless', we may blow our cover, and this whole operation may vanish without a trace, except for a run of bodies in dumpsters."

Mulder picked up the thread. "Let me make an alternative proposal."

Now it was Scully's turn to be surprised. _Mulder, rational?_

Oblivious to her glance, he continued. "If they are looking for us, we'll shift the operation to Baltimore. It may be that with the quick transportation between the two cities, our source is there, and the victims are coming to DC for the easier pickings the Capital provides."

Idly rubbing the stained top of the plastic table with his finger, Skinner considered the suggestion. "It would get you in range for pursuing Nora Samuelson's killer, since the City of Baltimore's finest are still baffled by her death. I'll contact your shadow and inform him. That boy you have in tow for the duration, is he all right? I thought you said he was a non-stop talker?"

Mulder rested both hands flat on the knobby plastic. "We had a few things happen last night that were unexpected, and I think he learned something his young mind needs to consider."

Scully was grateful that her partner chose not to elaborate, that their AD nodded and left, since she would not pronounce Mulder correct about visitations by ghosts.

-o-0-o-

Office of Senator Matheson  
Washington, DC  
Saturday, 5:47 pm

Walter Skinner spoke almost upon entering the Senator's plush private office. "All right, Rich, I read your message as soon as I returned from Baltimore. What was it you needed to tell me?"

While the Senator's furnishings had nowhere near the opulence of the Majority Leader's, the antique rosewood desk and tables and overstuffed matching sofas were too comfortable for Walter Skinner's Spartan tastes.

Matheson gestured at the television while he increased the volume. The men watched without comment as rain fell on the survivors of a pipe bomb explosion in another Manhattan high-rise, until Skinner leaned forward, recognizing the surroundings. "It's their office, isn't it?"

Richard Matheson nodded. "My sources told me something was wrong, Walt. It's fortunate that Mulder and Scully are off on this homeless case, or else they would have been in this one up to their necks, and I'm not sure we could shield them from the fallout." The senator turned at the knock, called his aide in, then took a fax from him. "Yes, it took out most of them." He handed the paper to the Assistant Director.

Skinner scanned the list. "All but three, who somehow managed to avoid this special session of the Committee. How do they do it?" He laid the paper on the sofa. "Mulder was right to move their operations to Baltimore. Sometimes I think that man leads a charmed life, Rich."

"Yes, but, who's behind it, Walt, and how does it affect our efforts to dissolve the shadow government? Is this a coup, or self-destruction?"

The men continued to silently observe the clean-up efforts, both well aware that only time would tell.

-o-0-o-

Podhowitz Basement  
Monday, December 23, 1996  
3:12 pm

Phoebe bounced down the basement stairs, pleased to have so many uninterrupted days with Eric, even if all she could do was sit to watch him paint. She wanted to sneak up behind him, then cover his eyes with her hands. If it were one of his landscapes, he would use her as his muse, adding a few extra brush strokes at random to help 'modernize' his art. But for this, she had to be more circumspect. _How long can it take to duplicate one of these works, anyway?_

"Phoebe, come take a look!" Max was downstairs already, hovering over the half-finished piece. "Eric has the second sublayer finished!"

She walked over to them, wrapping her arms around her fiancee's neck. _That doesn't look like much._ "Forgive a neophyte her ignorance, but why not just copy the picture and be done with it?"

Eric chortled, the rumbling in his chest and throat vibrating her arms. "This is the most elaborate duplicate I've ever done, Luv. When you and Max present this beauty, it will be subjected to twenty-first century probing, and it has to pass muster. Besides, I'll have it finished in a week or so, which is just long enough for us to stay and enjoy a real Viennese New Year's Eve."

The three smiled, since Caroline and Isaac were upstairs even now, arranging for caterers, florists, and a string orchestra (twelve or sixteen players was the raging debate). The siblings wanted to throw a grand party, like the ones they remembered of their Uncle Benjamin's, in honor of their family's partial reunion.

-o-0-o-

St. Brigid's Catholic Church  
Annapolis, Maryland  
Tuesday, December 24, 1996  
11:50 pm

Margaret Scully paused during the Invocation to check down the rest of the walnut pew. The heads of her sons and their families were all bowed in prayer, since it was the beginning of the Midnight Mass. She only wished her daughter could be here as well, but Dana had told her not to expect either her or Mulder for the festivities this year. She had exhibited her best motherly acceptance at the time, but now she was half-hoping to see them drive up at the last minute, some ready excuse at hand.

They had not appeared, but at least wherever they were, it was together, unlike last year, when her sullen girl had pointedly ignored her queries about her partner. Margaret recalled her daughter's petulant complaint: "Don't talk to me about Mulder, Mom, we're driving each other crazy at work right now. I wished him a Merry Christmas before I left the basement. But he'll be at the Gunmen's, I know, swilling eggnog and poking fun at Jimmy Stewart."

Margaret remembered calling Fox that Christmas night, only to find that he had spent the entirety of the day lost in regret and guilt over his missing sister. After thanking him for the present Dana had brought just an hour earlier, she sat to listen to his jagged voice as he wept, pouring out his failures of the past year to her. How he had left his father unguarded and he had been killed, to which she had responded: 'He was in his own home, Fox; one shouldn't need protection there.' How he had barely rescued Dana from the assassin he thought was a alien pilot. (But you made it, dear boy, you saved my girl.) How he was losing her even now. (Relationships just go through phases, Fox, this will pass.) How yet another year was done with his sister still missing. For that, she had no comforting words.

This year, however, the two were thick as thieves, so if anything could give him the strength he needed to persevere, she knew it was her iron-willed daughter. _Take care of each other, children, I'll be praying for you._ And so she did.

-o-0-o-

Inner Harbor  
Baltimore, Maryland  
Wednesday, December 25, 1996  
7:54 am

"Here yah go, buddy, Merry Christmas." A five dollar bill fluttered through the air to land on Mulder's lap as he crouched in the alcove, sheltered from the wind.

Johnny had convinced the agents that one didn't really appear homeless unless one sat to beg for a day or so.

Scully watched the disbelief grow in her partner's eyes, since after all their time together, sometimes she could read his thoughts like a book.

_Oxford-educated FBI agent and street bum._

Johnny smirked, but said nothing.

The red-haired woman playfully tugged at his five day old beard, thick and bushy on his chin, but still scraggly on his cheeks. "Well, you do look the part, Mulder."

He was turning the bill over and over, his mouth silently opening and closing. When he finally composed himself, he turned to his partner. "Shall we save this for our next movie rental?"

As she rolled her eyes, Johnny felt compelled to speak. "That's good money, Agent Mulder, in fact, you gave me a five once." Both heads turned towards him. "It was outside the Fourteenth Street Shelter, on Halloween."

Mulder gaped again, but found his voice a little sooner. "I'm sorry, John, I didn't know it was you. I'll never look at the homeless the same way again."

Johnny sat, pensive.

Scully knelt to rest her hand on his shoulder. "What's wrong, John? Agent Mulder and I have noticed how quiet you've been. Is there something you'd like to speak with us about?"

The blond head bobbed up and down, then he shifted around on the stone ledge. "Please, Agent Scully, don't be angry, but Agent Mulder says you don't believe, and..."

Mulder cocked his head at her.

She stood, walking towards the public rest rooms so they could speak in private.

"It's okay, John, Scully may not believe, but she wouldn't have ridiculed you either. I couldn't work with her if she didn't at least consider my ideas seriously enough to argue about them, so tell me what's on your mind."

"Do you remember Friday night when we were on the Ellipse?"

"Yes, John, I do."

"My Aunt Sarah came to speak with me. She told me I had to believe or the Gateway would stay open, and although nothing bad had come through yet, if I didn't believe, there would have to be a sacrifice to close it."

Mulder sat down, his arms linked around his knees. _Gateway. Captain Scully mentioned the Gateway._

"Agent Mulder, am I crazy?"

Mulder examined the anxious face, having heard the same question from any number of abductees. "No, John, you're not. You're unique and special, and you see things others don't. What is it you're supposed to believe?"

The boy smiled at the compliment, then sobered at the question. "I don't know, just that the voices used to make me promise every Halloween to believe, and this year I didn't because the medicine kept them away. Aunt Sarah was an astronomer, so she didn't believe any of these magical things, but she's dead, and she came back to tell me the magic was right. Will there have to be a sacrifice now?"

Looking up, Mulder watched his partner as she crossed the square, returning to them. _She won't like this._ "If you will excuse me, John, Agent Scully and I need to talk." He walked briskly over to her, meeting her in the middle of the square. Taking her arm, he guided her behind a low wall, blocking John's view, and with luck, his hearing. "Scully, I think we have a problem."

She smirked at his unintentional reference. "So it will get much, much colder for the three of us soon?"

Shaking his head, he snorted. "No, John told me what's been on his mind, and I'd like you to talk to him, to hear him out, but save the explosion for me, okay?"

She frowned, preparing for the worst as she headed over to their young charge, while Mulder stepped into the men's room.

-o-0-o-

While bending over a sink, Mulder was attempting to scrub his face and neck, but found he was fighting the flow control faucets with their automatic cut-off valves instead.

"Agent Mulder."

He lifted his eyes, seeing behind him in the mirror.

X was standing in one of the stalls, wearing his usual mask of a face. "You're looking a bit ragged, if I may say so." The bearded man glided forward. "I'm here to warn you: There has been a shake-up in the hidden powers. Old enemies are gone, and new ones will take their place."

Mulder spun on his heel. "Stop toying with me! What are you talking about?"

X snarled back at the agent, stepping directly in front of him. "I can't name names, Mulder, they would be meaningless to you in any case. You've left yourself in an extremely vulnerable position, sitting on street corners with your partner and that boy. You should have agreed to the back-up when Skinner wanted to provide it."

Mulder grabbed X by the lapels. "If I shouldn't be out here, then tell me who is taking the homeless and why, and I'll vanish of my own volition. Life on the streets is no block party."

X backed Mulder against the sinks, then the agent felt a gun press into his ribs. "It's no one you would ever suspect, and although you may arrest the persons who are fronting the operation, you won't be able to touch the real powers behind them, ever." He shoved Mulder away, throwing him to the floor.

Mulder's head struck the sharp edge of the counter as he fell. Lying on his back, he watched the lights in the ceiling start to rotate, before the world went black.

-o-0-o-

"Mulder? Mulder, it's me. What happened?"

He opened his eyes, wincing at the dull throbbing in the back of his skull.

Scully and John were kneeling beside him, his partner cradling his head in one hand. Several faces appeared in the doorway, the words 'Drunken bum' floating over him. John and Scully helped him to his feet, guiding him into a waiting van with the title 'WDS Boy's Home' on the side.

As the vehicle pulled away, their observer spoke into a hidden microphone before walking off among the dispersing crowd. Across the street, a truck's engine stopped, the driver having heard the command "Postpone collection operation".

Scully kept her arm around his shoulders, speaking to her partner, assessing the seriousness of his head injury. But all he could do was answer in monosyllables, fighting the urge simply to put his head in her lap and sleep.

Eventually the fog cleared; he felt the pain sharpen. "Scully? How long was I out of it?"

"Just a few minutes, but you may have a mild concussion. How did it happen?"

He glanced up at the front of the van, where John and Elizabeth occupied the passenger and driver seats, respectively. The older woman's eyes were flicking to the rear view mirror every few seconds, so he wanted to keep their mysterious contact from becoming public knowledge.

When he mouthed the letter 'X' at her, she nodded, raising her head to whisper in his ear. "We'll talk at the boy's home. Now that you've fully regained consciousness, I'll do my second job as your acting physician and tell you to sleep."

He slumped down, finally resting his cheek on her lap as he smiled. _Best gift I've received all day._

-o-0-o-

William Donald Schaeffer Boy's Home  
Wednesday, 1:17 pm

"Scully?" Mulder forced himself to awaken, expecting to see the plastic upholstery of the van in front of him. But he was in a sparsely furnished room that smelled like a dormitory. _Good, not a hospital._ He checked down the bed, noticing he was still in his clothes, but lying under a threadbare blanket.

"Mulder?"

His partner's voice seemed to come from below, so he rolled over to look at the floor, gripping the mattress as his head swam from the motion. Curling up on the floor beside him, Scully had wrapped herself in another thin blanket.

He reached out to rest his hand on her back as she sat up, blinking and rubbing her eyes. "Where are we?"

"How do you feel?"

Each spoke at the same time, so both grinned.

Mulder shifted over on the bed. "I'm okay, Scully, or I will be as soon as the room stops spinning. How did I get here?"

She sat on the mattress beside him, letting the cover fall to the floor as she probed the base of his skull gently. _Good, no concussion this time._

His eyes flashed as he reached back to touch her hand. "Now if you really want to make it a Merry Christmas..."

She rolled her eyes, a slight upturn to her lips. _No damage there, Dana._ "We're at the Boy's Home. John remembered that Elizabeth was running the van today, helping pick up homeless boys so they could have a hot meal on Christmas. When I called, she was close by, so we were able to get you here without blowing our cover. You should be okay. Do you have any idea why X attacked you?"

After he sat up, he shrugged. "I can't say. We were sparring as we usually do, then he threw me against the sink and stuck a gun in my ribs while growling about old enemies disappearing and new ones taking their place."

Dropping her eyes, Scully stared at her stained hands. "I've been thinking about that. I don't believe we can blame the homeless disappearances on the Shadows, not anymore. The evidence, especially if you factor in what Skinner told us about the facilities where those men were taken, is too overwhelming."

He frowned. "Oh?"

She stood to cross to the small window that overlooked the street. "I'm beginning to suspect one of the major drug manufacturers." She turned to face him as he swung his legs off the bed. "Oh, if this were 1986, or even as late as a couple of years ago, I would have agreed that some secret part of the government is involved." She was pacing as she ruminated. "You see, we know the Shadows are involved in many covert operations, presumably not just the ones regarding human experimentation. But they must get money from somewhere in the government, and even the NSA is hurting." At his look of surprise, she smiled. "I didn't get that from Byers and Company; it was in the Washington Post."

Picking up her train of thought, he stood. "But the drug manufacturers are rolling in the bucks, pulling down several thousand percent returns on any particular product. As with AZT, they'll charge whatever price they can."

She nodded, pleased that her mundane explanation sparked the excitement she saw in his eyes.

He crossed the room to stand beside her. "X said we would never be able to touch whoever is behind this, even if we catch a few of the underlings, and the drug business is certainly big enough to qualify. In a way, we've been through this drill before."

"I know, Pinck Pharmaeceuticals and the prison outbreak. But this goes beyond that. Before, all we were involved in was a clean-up campaign. Now, it appears we have unscrupulous executive or multiple executives, willing to inject a group like the homeless with a new virus. They don't seem to care who catches this disease, perhaps because it isn't fatal."

Mulder nodded. "Right. It can be passed off as just a case of the flu." He shrugged. "Without you and Susan, that's all I would have considered it. Then, they pull the victims off the street to test various treatments for future marketing."

Scully' jaw set. "They would claim, of course, that they were working for the good of all, necessary risks in the search to find a cure for the common cold or something, that the ends justify the means. But we have for too long used disadvantaged persons as guinea pigs."

He watched out the window as a squirrel industriously patted down the dirt over a walnut it had just buried, before he touched her shoulder. "Perhaps we can find out who killed Nora Samuelson, anyway. I think we were right before, Scully, and that she deduced who was spreading the virus from her work with TP-101. Or, she may have been doing it herself and her conscience began to prick about it, so they killed her. But I do know we won't find the answers here..."

At the sound of knocking, they turned.

Elizabeth poked her head in the door, smiling at the sight of Mulder on his feet, and walked in, carrying a tray with two mugs of hot cocoa. "I see he's feeling better. Care for a little Christmas cheer? I know you agents don't drink, but no one can resist chocolate, right?" They accepted the mugs, blowing on the surface to cool the liquid, while she waited. "I'm having a party for the boys downstairs, if you care to join us."

Mulder sipped the cocoa once before resting the mug on the dresser. "No, we need to get back out there. Thanks for your help today."

The white-haired woman smiled back. "Well, you'll have to drag John out by his heels, I'm afraid. He's the center of attention right now, regaling the other boys with all your stories."

Scully glanced at Mulder. "And loving it?"

The three laughed.

After the door closed, he turned back to his partner. "How much of a chance did you get to talk to John?"

The room's furnishings were almost identical to those in the spare quarters where they had first interviewed the boy, so she moved the chair over to the bed before sitting on it. Mulder lounged on the thin mattress, propping his head on the pillow after he turned it on its side.

Scully rubbed her temples, having hoped she could dodge this particular subject. "You mean his stories about the Gateway?" She shrugged. "I don't know, Mulder, it sounds either like a bad horror movie or like the Celtic myths about the Tuatha De Danaan."

He smirked. "Leprechauns? Scully, I'm delighted. Now if I could get you to believe in little grey men as well, my Christmas would be complete!".

She waggled her fist under his nose. "Mulder! I thought we were talking about Jungian archetypes here!" She crossed her arms, her eyes widening. "Oh, no, don't tell me you think the Gateway is real, and Poe will finally come forward to repay his secret admirers."

The smirk broadened into a full crooked smile that brought her to her feet.

"Mulder!" Scully was working up a head of steam.

He watched, amused, while she paced and raged. _My partner in full attack mode. Second Christmas present of the day._

"You said what you *thought* was my father's spirit talked about the Gateway closing as a result of one of John's possible choices. So, when John reports similar words from what he *thought* was the ghost of his Aunt Sarah, you're all ready to abandon the homeless and go chase what?"

He covered his grin with his hand. _Take a breath, Scully._

She stalked over to the bed, glaring down at him. _He's enjoying this too much._ "For all we know, what the three of us experienced may have been comforting hallucinations brought on by the cold and fatigue."

He propped himself up. "But if they were comforting, why not your Father for you and mine for me?" He cocked his head. "My hallucination had to introduce himself, Scully."

She threw up her hands. "I don't know, they may have been side-effects of the virus, too. Did you think of that?"

He slid off the bed, using his height to drive home what he considered his final point. "But John never had the virus. He's been hearing voices all his life and he's used to the streets, unlike us."

She began pacing again. "We don't know that for certain. The second time we talked to him, Elizabeth was there, so he wouldn't admit to anything that would have prevented him from going out with us."

"True, but John would have let us know, somehow. You must realize that."

She was clenching and unclenching her fists, then sat down, forcing the emotions to drain out of her. _You're too worn to do this, Dana, and so is he._ "Look, we could argue about this the rest of the day, but it won't get us any closer to the conclusion of this case. However, I think we can both agree that we need to be careful about what we say to John. His is not the most stable personality. If he thinks too much about the Gateway, he may come to the conclusion that he is responsible for some cosmic error and become suicidal."

Mulder settled back on the bed, nodding. "Your diagnosis of John's instability is much similar to mine. He flips too easily from excessive cheerfulness to deep withdrawal. He should be on more than lithium if he is to survive. We should warn Elizabeth, right?"

She passed him his hot chocolate.

He stuck his tongue out when he saw it was now a thick cold sludge. "We'll drop these in the kitchen on the way out."

-o-0-o-

Carl had drawn kitchen duty that day, and he poured the contents of the mugs down the drain. The man had taken a few sips, while the woman had left hers untouched.

_Too bad, it wouldn't be enough._ He would have to try something else if he wanted to take revenge on the agents for making him lose his temper when they interviewed him, and the next day, his job.

-o-0-o-

Elizabeth closed the door to the office, but the partners remained on their feet. They had relayed their concerns to her as they walked from the main room here.

Now, she sought to reassure them. "John was fine the whole time he was here, not even a sniffle. I'll speak with Susan after you leave and see if Nora had anything else in her pharmacopoeia that might help him. You aren't taking him back out on the streets today, are you?"

Mulder shook his head. "No, in fact, I think he's helped us enough. We'll wish him a Merry Christmas and be on our way. It's far too risky for him to stay with us."

Scully turned to look up at him. "It's more risky than you think, Mulder. I didn't get a chance to tell you upstairs, but I called Skinner while you were asleep. Our back-up has been killed, in what looks like the work of a professional, not a random street crime."

He grimaced. "That settles it. Would you ask John to step in here, please?"

-o-0-o-

Pratt Street  
Baltimore, Maryland  
Thursday, December 26, 1996  
8:34 am

Once the City of Baltimore Police car had circled the block for the third time, Mulder and Scully pressed themselves into the shadows. John had warned them that the sheriffs would often pick up vagrants to reach their arrest quotas towards the end of the month. The agents knew they couldn't continue the investigation from a jail cell, but waving their FBI badges in the open would blow their cover completely. So they could only hover out of sight as the blue and white vehicle pulled to the curb, then the uniformed officer stepped out to approach them.

"No loitering in the parks, or haven't you two been warned enough? Let's go, get in the car."

Frustrated at his impotence, Mulder decided to play along. "But Officer, it's the Holidays. Have some pity, please!"

The sergeant flipped off his sunglasses, tucking them in his shirt pocket. "No loitering. In the car."

Scully scrambled to her feet, bending down to pull her partner's arm. "We'll call Skinner and get this straightened out at the station, okay?"

-o-0-o-

Inner Harbor  
Police Station  
Thursday, 8:59 am

"This was the only way I could locate you two once you left the Boy's Home." Walter Skinner leaned back in the folding chair, his large frame shifting to keep from sliding off the small metal square. His agents were seated on the other side of a worn table in the otherwise bare, windowless interrogation room. "That license plate you phoned in was from a pick-up truck stolen in Montana."

Mulder rubbed the bump on the back of his head.

Skinner noticed Scully's shoulders sagging. "Agent Scully, are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Sir, just tired. I haven't had a good night's sleep in over a week."

After looking down at her, Mulder leaned forward. "So we don't have any leads at all?"

The Assistant Director sighed. "I didn't say that. The panel truck you described was also reported stolen, but here in Baltimore. It was removed from a rental lot on Tuesday, when, fortunately, the night watchman had the sense to look, but keep silent. Here's a police artist's sketch of one of the men he saw briefly in the street lights before they drove off." He passed them a curled piece of Fax paper.

Mulder glanced at the face before passing the sheet to his partner. "Sir, that's Carl."

Their boss frowned. "Who? No, that's Richard Apel, a former employee of Broadway Pharmaeceuticals. He was placed on long-term disability about a year ago for schizophrenia after he began displaying alternate personalities for himself. He's undergoing long-term treatment at St. Elizabeth's in DC."

Mulder shook his head. "Well, he goes by Carl now, and he's at the Boy's Home. Agent Scully and I have speculated that the drug companies were behind these disappearances, but we didn't think they were this thoroughly planned."

Skinner nodded. "Okay, you two have done the legwork. The Baltimore PD will bring him in for questioning. By the way, Mulder, I had another discussion with our smoking friend, and he seems concerned for your well-being, both of you. Any reason why I shouldn't pull you two right now?"

Scully shrugged. "There's still Nora Samuelson's death. Carl was a patient of hers, true, but she died without a struggle. She knew about his violent tendencies, Sir, and we've experienced them ourselves. He's not the type for subterfuge, unless he was working with someone who was directing him."

Mulder took up the justification. "The only way we'll pick up the information is the same way we learned about Carl, by being out on the street."

Skinner checked first one drawn face and then the other, considering the hours these two had been without protection already. "It's not necessary, but you both want to see this through to the end, I can tell. I've lined up another agent to watch out for you, but it was hard work." He rose to leave. "The Baltimore PD will drop you back where they found you, but they'll be watching too. I don't want to explain your disappearances to any Senators. Oh, and Agent Mulder?"

The younger man looked up. "Sir?"

Skinner bent over the table with a growl. "The next time I see you, I want that disgusting thing off your face, is that clear?" He left without waiting for a response.

-o-0-o-

Office of Senator Matheson  
Washington, DC  
Friday, December 27, 1996  
10:18 am

Walter Skinner stood at attention before the Senator's desk. "Rich, whoever is behind this pipe bombing has it in for the FBI. The techniques all so closely match the Unabomber's MO that the press is howling about the FBI and DEA failing in their missions once again. The Attorney General had directed that every effort be undertaken to ensure the validity of the evidence against the present suspect."

Richard Matheson rotated his leather seat to gaze out his window. "You're sure Mulder and Scully know none of this? We must keep them clear, Walt, so we have a few ready weapons to use against whoever is replacing the old men."

The Assistant Director walked around the desk, his hands behind his back, to join his friend by the window. "They're completely focused on the homeless case, and as far as I know from my contacts in Customs, have had no further involvement in the Sharpsburg investigation."

The Senator stood to face him. "Don't mistake my esteem for your people, Walt. Dana Scully is a first class agent, and Mulder is a good man..."

Skinner sighed. "But something of a loose cannon. Yes, I deal with that regularly, Rich. His talents are best used when he can run at full tilt at a problem, except when Scully can rein him in and focus him."

"They're still working well together?"

Their supervisor nodded. "Mulder and Scully are two halves of a whole team. I'm relieved they figured that out before one of them was killed last winter."

-o-0-o-

William Donald Schaeffer Boy's Home  
Baltimore, Maryland  
Saturday, December 28, 1996  
11:42 pm

Johnny dumped the last load of towels in the dryer, thinking as he did so that this was where Agents Mulder and Scully had first met Carl. He plumped his chest, reminding himself that he had helped them prove that he was really a criminal, not just a very angry, unhappy man. He hoped the agents were all right. The only officers he had seen since Christmas were the ones who had arrested Carl, but the partners were not among them. He had wanted to ask, but Elizabeth wouldn't let any of the other boys near the police.

He missed the tall man and the red-haired woman who had been such good friends to him. Agent Mulder had the greatest apartment, and Agent Scully hadn't made fun of him. She just held his hand, nodding sincerely as he told her about the Gateway, not like the doctors who had looked down their noses at him at the county hospital when he told them about the voices.

When he saw them last, they both asked him not to worry about the sacrifice, reminding him that it wasn't his fault. Because of his help, they could work the whole thing out now. Agent Scully advised him to study hard, because the world needs more good mathematicians, that maybe he run his own observatory like his Aunt Sarah if he did well in college.

But his Aunt Sarah had told him last week that it was his fault, that he *would* have to sacrifice to close the Gateway, before the bad things started to escape. After engaging the latch on the laundry room door, John thought about all the responsibility Aunt Sarah had given him while she was still alive. Now that she was dead, she was giving him another, so he wouldn't let her down. _But what was the sacrifice?_

-o-0-o-

Baltimore Museum of Art Park  
Monday, December 30, 1996  
1:16 am

An unmarked panel truck waited, parked along the street. The driver and two attendants scanned the shivering clumps of men and women, who were scattered on the benches and under the yew bushes. The driver pointed, so the two men moved out, gliding silently toward a pair of closely huddled lumps under an ash tree. A brief struggle ensued, but the two were subdued and carried back to the truck. Two other pairs of eyes watched from the darkness, then, as a matched team, they slipped to the back of the truck.

"Federal Agents! You're under arrest! Stop what you're doing and put up your hands!" Mulder waved his badge in the air, but found himself flung into the bushes when the driver backed the truck directly into him.

He rolled onto his hands and knees, gasping at the pain in his side, watching his partner being dragged into the truck. "Scully, No!"

She had pulled free, leaving her coat in the men's hands, to head for him, but turned at his command to wrestle with the attendants. They were both grabbed and dragged inside, as the two homeless took off, rousing the others in the park. Mulder wondered where their backup was, afraid he might have been eliminated as well.

"Well, strap them down, we have a long ride ahead." The voice belonged to Elizabeth Williams. The agents exchanged a glance as they struggled with the attendants. Once they were subdued, she addressed the pair directly. "Surprised? Don't be. We don't all work for charity, as you and your friends are foolish enough to."

Scully was fuming. "You killed Nora, didn't you? She wouldn't open her door late at night for a violent patient like Carl, but she would for you."

The older woman laughed. "They'll love having you to test on, Doctor Scully. All those brains, and no hormones to mess up the data..." Hearing a commotion outside, she turned.

"Freeze! Police!"

Elizabeth laughed. "Not likely! We have hosta..."

The agents used the distraction to push past the woman, throwing the door open. But before they could leap out of harm, the truck lurched as the driver engaged the clutch, seeking to escape. Scully was thrown to the ground, rolling across the pavement until she wrapped around a tree. As Mulder teetered on the edge, the truck pulled away so he slipped, hitting the back of his head on the bumper as he fell.

-o-0-o-

Baltimore General Hospital  
Tuesday, December 31, 1996  
5:17 pm

Hearing his partner calling him, Mulder reached towards her voice, feeling her hand gripping his. "I'm okay, Scully, I'm okay." He opened his eyes, wincing when he observed the scrapes on her cheek and arms.

"You've been out for two days now, Mulder." She pushed his hair off his forehead. "Only you could hit the same spot on your head twice without trying, but at least you just bruised the ribs on your right side, this time."

He looked over, noticing her street clothes. "What about you? Last time I saw you, you had turned into a full-time member of Earth First." He struggled briefly.

Grimacing as she stood, she bent over to help him sit up. "Oh, I'll live." As she eased back onto the bed, Scully rubbed her abdomen. "Lots of bruises, but we were both lucky not to break anything."

He grasped her wrist, stilling the fingers restlessly twisting his sheets. "Except?"

She bit her lip, dropping her voice as she spoke. "Except I had to perform an autopsy, Mulder, one I never wanted to do."

He closed his eyes. "No, Scully, not..."

She nodded. "John Towser threw himself off the top of the Boy's Home around the same time we were arresting those men and Elizabeth." She stopped, composing herself, while he rubbed his face, fighting to keep down the sorrow he felt. "It was the end of the halcyon days. Nothing bad is supposed to happen, according to legend, but he killed himself then."

Mulder remembered her Father's words, 'a choice at the end of the halcyon days,' before he pushed his thoughts aside. He stretched his arms towards her, but she pointed to his side, then shook her head. He settled for clasping her hands between his, each too weary to reason or rage, yet needing the other's presence for comfort.

Finally, she stood up, walking aimlessly around the room, rubbing the back of her neck. "But I know why John was never sick with the virus. You see, he was a carrier."

"What?"

She nodded as she walked back to the bed, grasping his arm after she sat. "Somehow that nice, crazy kid was immune to it, but every fluid in his body was full of those bugs. Anyone he touched eventually came down with the disease, yourself included, and through you, me. Oh, and one guess who was paying for the tests on TP-101?"

He wrapped his hand around her upper arm. "Broadway?" When she nodded, he slid his palm down to rub her fingers with his thumb.

"Yes. Nora was hired as an independent expert. She would do that periodically and give the money to the shelters, Sue told me."

He frowned. "So you don't think she knew?"

Scully shook her head. "Susan ran some tests on TP-101. It was never a real anti-hallucinogen, but was the delivery system for the virus. Nearly all the test subjects came down with virus, except for John, who was also the only person in the test group with untreatable neurological symptoms. Nora had sent several tissue samples back to the company for them to analyze, so they must have known he was a carrier from them. When she kept the last set, they realized they had to act before she could work all this out for herself, which she was attempting to do when she was killed. The police found several pills crushed and in growth media when they searched Nora's office." She released his arm, rubbing her face with both hands.

He stared out the window, reflecting. "Elizabeth must have gone by to check up on how much she had discovered. When she saw, she killed Nora, or had Carl do it for her."

His partner was shaking with rage. "That whole test was a sham. It makes me so angry, doctors are supposed to help people, not do things like this! Nora was brought in, with all her good intentions, and she passed their little pills out." She stopped, checking her anger. "From a medical standpoint, what's chilling is that retroviruses don't usually survive outside of a warm body for more than a few hours, but here they have developed a strain that can survive and reproduce after freeze-drying and rehydration. What's next?"

Her partner shook his head. "We'll never be able to tell who else was involved with this drug, will we?" At her sharp glance, he raised his hand. "If there was anyone else. Let me guess, Broadway is denying the whole thing, and the management has produced a scapegoat?"

She nodded. "But some of Nora's friends at Hopkins Hospital are keeping after the company. All the TP-101 patients are being tracked down so their white blood cells can be saved by the CDC and the Surgeon General's Office." She began wandering aimlessly again.

Mulder wondered how much she had slept in the past two days. "What happened to John's body, Scully?" He pushed the covers aside, steeling himself to walk to the bathroom.

She helped him to his feet. "Susan and I took the boys up with it for the funeral in Hagerstown yesterday and he's buried with his parents and his Aunt Sarah. Mom came in and sat with you during the autopsy and the funeral." Her lips curved momentarily. "She shaved you then, in case you wonder where your beard is.

He touched his chin, then smirked. "Ah. Okay. You and Skinner hated it so I'll probably never go for that rumpled professor look."

Scully's cheeks dimpled. "Your doctor believed that you could wake up disoriented, and wanted someone you knew and trusted with you when you did." She guided him to the washroom door, then waited for him there, handing him his sweatpants when he was ready for them.

When he reemerged, pale and sweaty from the bending and twisting, she supported him. Mulder was gritting his teeth as he proceeded laboriously, until he walked to one of the chairs in the room. She pulled the other seat next to him to settle into it. She lifted both corners of her mouth, too drained to express the depth of her relief at his rapid reawakening.

Mulder touched her fingers, drawing her out of herself. "Did you get any rest at all?"

She snorted. "Not as much as I'd like, but this is over, and tomorrow is a holiday." She tipped her head. "New Year's. Tomorrow is the start of 1997. The good news is your doctor had agreed you can go home as soon as you feel ready."

"That's it?"

"Hum-mum. The better news is that the leaders of the new Congress have officially congratulated the FBI on its handling of this case, specifically, the five agents involved, including Agent Rivers, posthumously."

He ran his hand through his hair. "The suspense is killing me, the best...?"

Now she found the energy for one of her beautiful smiles. "The best news is that we've been promoted, so if all goes well this next session, the X-Files Section has been promised a bigger budget and our own offices on the second floor. Skinner's kept his word, and we're going places. Right now, we'll be allotted two agents to assist us and our own secretary!"

He smiled back. "So, can I go home now, Doctor Scully?"

She lifted an eyebrow. "How did you know I assigned myself to be your doctor?"

He cocked his head. "I figured, with all this good news, I must be on a roll."

Scully walked to one of the dressers, lifting a pair of socks and running shoes out of a drawer. "Well, Doctor Schwartz did look you over for me." When she offered him his footwear, he shook his head, so she knelt to slip them on. "He agreed that as long as I monitor you for signs of permanent trauma, you could leave as soon as you woke up." Looking up at his face, she frowned. "I know how much you hate hospitals, so we're taking the rest of the week off, that way *you* can rest at home. The changes for the X-Files won't be official until the new Congress is in session, so you can relax."

His eyes twinkling, he ribbed her. "You said we'd have our own offices?"

Finished, she returned to the chair. "With adjoining doors, of course."

"But no partner three feet away, looking askance at my creative filing system?" After she untied the hospital robe, he shook it off, taking the Oxford sweatshirt she offered and pulling it over his head before she had a clear view of the purpling bruises on his side and stomach.

She lifted one corner of her mouth. "Just a partner six feet away who can close the door and live in blissful ignorance."

He pushed himself out of the chair, waving her proffered hands away, forcing himself to walk on his own back to the sink in the bathroom. Doubling over carefully, he ran the hot water until it steamed, and scrubbed his face and neck, cleansing himself of the streets and the case. "But two people, good people, died, Scully. We shouldn't be this happy."

She crossed the room to the doorway, leaning against it, and holding out a white towel. "Three, Mulder, counting Nora, John, and Agent Rivers. We'll just have to work that much harder, to make their sacrifices mean something."

-o-0-o-

Podhowitz Home  
Vienna, Austria  
Tuesday, 10:57 pm

Max bent over his wife, who was writing at a low table in their bedroom. "You'd better finish that letter, Caroline, your guests are arriving."

She put the pen down and folded the pages in thirds, stuffing the blue paper in an air mail envelope, labeled with both a destination, and for the first time, a return address.

Max rested his hand on her shoulder. "It's really safe to do this?"

She rose, sealing the envelope and taking his arm. "Yes, Max, that monster knows I don't make idle threats. Besides, if anyone can get Fox to a spot and keep him there, it's Margaret. You need to spend time with my boy, and he needs to meet you as father and son."

They left their bedroom, Max stepping back to guide her out the door first. "But I'm not his father, Caroline, as much as I would be honored and pleased to claim him as my own. Let's consider this a first step, dear." He patted her hand where it rested on his arm. "He's so, tortured, I suppose, that it may take years for us to be comfortable with each other. Ah, the music."

The opening bars of the Blue Danube Waltz accompanied the arrival of the Champagne. As they swept down the stairs, he kissed her cheek. "Come, my jewel, your salon awaits. You look lovely in blue satin."

She beamed. "And you look divine in a tux, Max."

-o-0-o-

Outside Apartment 42  
Arlington, VA  
Tuesday, 7:37 pm

"You sure you can carry all that, Scully?" He looked down at her hands, the Chinese food in her left, the briefcase and laptop strap in the right.

She had insisted she carry the bags to rest his ribs when they climbed out of her car, using her best Look when he protested. "Sure, you just get the door." She stuck her tongue out at him. "Doctor's orders."

He groaned, digging for his keys. As the door swung on its hinges, he frowned, fumbling for the light switch. "I'm sure I left the hall table lamp on, Scully, didn't I?"

She sniffed, an acrid aroma wafting out the open door. "Mulder, when did you..."

They exchanged a glance, then scrambled for their Sigs.

Once armed, he signaled her back, then pushed the door open, taking his shooting stance, pointing the gun into the darkness.

"Come in, Agent Mulder, I'm alone and unarmed, permanently, sad to say."

Mulder stepped in, the tobacco smell growing stronger with each stride.

Scully followed, gun leveled and aimed at the figure dimly visible on the sofa, while her partner checked the rest of his apartment.

Mulder emerged from the bathroom, dipped his head once, crossing the living room to bend over her before he walked out the door. "Keep him covered, I'm checking the building."

She heard the click of an old-style lighter opening, saw the brief yellow flame, then a glowing red ring.

"This really isn't necessary, Agent Scully. I am unarmed and powerless to harm either of you, ever again."

She sidled over to a table lamp, reaching to turn it on without taking her eyes off him. She switched the three-way knob to the highest setting, then circled the room, activating every light in the living area, taking grim delight in his increasing discomfort before she sat down opposite him.

"I've been stripped of all power, Agent Scully, and I came here to make peace with your partner, to give him some of those answers he has always sought." The cigarette bobbed up and down as he spoke. "I'm a marked man, now, as are all the old men you have feared." She lifted an eyebrow, the only visible sign of her surprise. "The rules of the game are changing, so you need a few pointers to keep playing, you, Mulder, and my old friend Walter."

She shook the gun. "If you're handing out answers, then tell me why you wiretapped every room in my mother's house over the past few months."

Caught off-guard by the unexpected question, he expelled his breath through his teeth, smoke curling upwards as from a dying campfire. "Your Mother's house? I did no such thing, nor did any of the Agents I once controlled. Shall I tell you who killed your sister?" He grimaced, the best approximation of a grin he still could form.

Mulder reentered his home, moving her bags and the dinner to a table inside the door. "Scully?" Her eyes never left the sagging face. "I'm searching him."

She waved the gun upwards.

The old man sighed, tamping out the cigarette beside a pile of butts on Mulder's coffee table. "Oh, very well." He placed his hands on the wall, spreading his legs so Mulder could pat him down.

Finished, the tall agent stepped back. "He's clean, Scully."

Lowering her gun, she reengaged the safety as she walked into the front room to her briefcase. Dropping the gun in her holster, then slipping the leather and weapon away, she heard hands sliding on fabric and a soft strangled cry. _Mulder, don't!_

She spun on her heel, horrified to see her partner, all towering rage, his hands around the old man's neck as he pressed him against the wall.

-o-0-o-

End – Twelfth Night - Solstice


	4. Kings's Day

=====o======================================================o=====

_Twelfth Night_ by Mary Ruth Keller

Part IV - _Kings's Day_

=====o======================================================o=====

Apartment 42  
Arlington, Virginia  
Tuesday, December 31, 1996  
8:02 pm

"Mulder! No!" Running over, she attempted to pull one arm away, but the adrenaline and testosterone had knotted her partner's muscles into steel cables. "You're killing him, Mulder, let go! He's unarmed, and he wants to give you some answers!"

The old man could only whisper, but his words added fuel to the raging fire he saw in the agent's eyes. "Go ahead, Mister Mulder, I haven't slept well in months. I get visitors in the night, faces I never thought to see again. For months. If I die now, I'll never have another nightmare." He was dangerously purple.

Her partner's hazel had turned dark, all the years of anger and grief pouring into his long fingers. "He killed my Father and your sister, Scully, and tried to kill my Mother. He had Sam kidnapped and you too."

Scully continued to tug on his arm. "You're just doing their dirty work for them!"

But Fox Mulder was beyond reason. "Now, pay!" He squeezed one final time, cutting off his old nemesis's windpipe.

In desperation, Scully realized that she had only one weapon that would keep her partner from a death sentence. She delivered a quick chop to his bruised ribs, the searing pain dropping him like a stone.

The old man sank to his knees, gasping for air.

Mulder groaned, holding his side. "Why, Scully, why? He was responsible for all of it."

Leaning over her partner, she reached to help him to his feet. "We don't know that, but if you were to kill him, your career at the FBI would be finished. Skinner couldn't prevent the filing of murder charges against you. Your enemies would pour out of the woodwork, taking the opportunity to turn your trial into a lynching party."

The old spy pulled himself up along the wall. "She's right, you know. She always had more sense than you, always."

Mulder used her outstretched arms to bring him to his feet. But his hatred still controlled him, demanding an outlet, so he slung her into one of the mission chairs. "You're his spy, aren't you? His little spy, sent to worm your way into my trust!"

Scully glared up at her partner. _What does it take to prove my loyalty to you?_ Her disbelief lasted long enough for him to drag her up, then off her feet to shake her before her protective instincts took over.

The old man used the distraction to leave, the front door hanging open behind him.

Twisting her arms free, Scully backed away, still attempting to reason with her partner. "Mulder, I'm not his spy and I never was. Blevins assigned me to assess the validity of your work, he didn't. I'm your *partner*, not an observer, not a spy, and I *thought* your friend."

Mulder's rage swelled. "I don't need friends! I don't need a partner, and I don't need you!" His long arms extended, he charged her.

She deflected him, sending him sprawling onto the futon as she, pressing one hand against her bruised abdomen, scrambled toward escape through the front room. _How can you do this, Mulder?_

But, pumped full of endorphins, he shot off the sofa, crossing the room in two leaping steps. Catching her by the hair, he yanked her head back to spin her around. "You always belonged to them, didn't you?" They were nose to nose, their arguments at Comity appearing, like an eerie portent, in her mind. "Never to me!"

Scully sagged in Mulder's hands, using gravity to force him to release her, but he pushed her down on the floor, straddling her, then pinning her arms up over her head. "Never to me! Never ... to ... me!"

Her head reeling from its sharp contact with Mulder's oak floor, Scully thrashed, her mind and body remembering Phaster's insane face hovering over her. "Mulder! Let me go!" Twisting, she struggled to pull her knees into a position where she could throw her partner off her without injuring him further.

But as quickly as she moved, Mulder countered, grinding his pelvis into her stomach as he pinned her shoulders to the floor with his knees. "I leave you alone with him for a few minutes, and you turn against me, like they all do. Were you going to tell him where all the papers were, Scully, were you?"

She clenched her jaw, attempting to contain her shout. "Never. How could you, after what we've been through, how could you even *think* such a thing?" _Keep calm, Dana._ Forcing the image of Tooms from her thoughts, she lowered her voice. "Mulder, when have I ever given you cause to believe I would betray you?"

Mulder's grip on Scully's wrists was bruisingly tight, his teeth bared within a hair's breadth of her nose. "You're good, Scully, I have to give you that." He shook her. "Get the paranoid idiot to trust you, was that your little game?"

She could feel his rage ebbing, so she dropped her voice to a whisper. "It's no game; it never was. This is as much about my life now as it is about yours. You're hurt, you're not thinking clearly. Let me up, please."

Her plea set his head spinning, but the fury still drove him. "I forgot, Spooky never thinks, does he? He just feels. Well, maybe that's your problem, Doctor Scully, you don't *feel* anything." Pushing one knee down on her arm, he transferred his full weight to it as he twisted until he was lying fully on top of her. The slight whimper of protest she failed to suppress drove him to lock her flailing legs between his. He pressed his chest down on hers. "Can you feel this?"

Scully resumed fighting, attempting to shift off the body on top of her by rocking her hips. "Mulder! Let go!"

As his ribs heaved from the struggle, the added pressure snapped one of the weakened bones. When the pain penetrated through to his brain, his thinking mind reasserted itself. _This is my partner, my friend, my ally. What am I doing?_

Horror rushed in to replace his anger. Mulder released Scully, sitting down beside her, lifting her shoulders off the floor to wrap his arms around them. "I'm sorry, Scully, I'm so sorry, please forgive me, please." He was pressing her against his chest as fiercely as he had sought to pin her to the floor just moments earlier.

She was shaking, terrified of the emotions the past few minutes had unleashed in him. "It's okay, Mulder, you're okay." She tightened her arm around the unbruised side of his body, probing the damaged ribs gently with her left hand. _I'll never get him back in the hospital just for this._

As one bone moved under her fingers, Mulder grunted helplessly, breaking down, weeping in her neck. "What have I done? Please forgive me. Please don't leave me."

She reached up to stroke his hair. _Was that it, are you afraid you'll lose me again?_ "I won't, Mulder, never. It's okay. I'm here and I'm staying. It's okay. We'll find your sister, we will, together." She shushed and rubbed until the tears stopped, but her shaking did not. _He doesn't need to deal with your fear, Dana, get a grip._

He released her, holding her trembling hands in his to focus on them. "You were never my enemy, never, Scully. I should know better." He raised his eyes to hers. "I'm sorry my rage drove me to do this. You've never given me cause to doubt your loyalty, ever. You should never have been my target."

Willing her own tears away, she rested her forehead on his shoulder. "Let's go to my place, my supplies are there and the air is cleaner."

Standing, he lifted her to her feet, telling himself the pain in his side was a just penance for what he had been about to do. "Did I hurt you?"

She gathered her thoughts before meeting his haunted eyes. "No, you didn't. I'll be fine, after I get some rest, but you were right at the Gunmen's on Election Day. We have a whole new set of enemies to worry about."

After cracking a few of his windows, he picked up the bags, then walked, deep in thought, beside her to her car with one hand wrapped tightly around her waist.

-o-0-o-

Along Glebe Road  
Arlandria, Virginia  
Tuesday, 6:38 pm

Dana Scully gripped the steering wheel, forcing herself to concentrate on the road, not allowing her mind to drift back to the events in Mulder's apartment.

He, on the other hand, was obsessing over them, cursing himself in his head for almost destroying the one person he completely trusted. _You're becoming just like your Father, G-man._

After passing over the shallow creek known as Four Mile Run, they were stopped by a red light. Scully glanced over at the mask his face had become, then reached out to cover one clenched fist with her hand.

Choking back a sob, he opened his hand to grasp her fingers in one swift motion, turning his head towards her for the first time since they entered the car. Mulder's eyes were even more deeply shadowed than she had seen when he had been grieving for his mother.

She lifted one corner of her mouth, silently offering her forgiveness in the balm of a quip. "I should warn you, Mulder, when we reach my apartment, I'm throwing you in the bathtub. I know bachelors like yourself only shower to maintain a minimum level of social acceptability, but ten days is too long for anyone to tolerate, even my normally accepting self."

He lifted the corners of his lips in a brief grin, then watched as, heartened, she responded with one of her own. "Thank you, Scully, but I only have these sweats from the hospital."

Arching an eyebrow, she jerked her head towards the back seat. "No, I had a whole bag packed for you that never made it inside your apartment. Doctor Scully will tolerate no excuses from her patients." When the light changed, the driver of the car behind them hit his horn, so she rolled forward.

Mulder checked back over his shoulder. "And apparently, neither will he."

The lawyer in the Jaguar behind them, impatient to reach a Congressman's party, had begun celebrating as he waited for his date to finish dressing at her apartment. Now, he was late, the Honda in front of him accelerating too slowly for his pleasure. So, muttering about women drivers, he pressed the horn, then jerked his sleek sedan to the left, forcing an oncoming small Datsun and the offending blue four door up on the curb. As the red-haired driver slammed on the brakes, narrowly missing a woman exiting a Laundromat with two bulging canvas sacks, he snarled to his date, then roared away.

Mulder leapt out of the car to check with the woman, who had dropped her bags by the passenger side of the Honda, before he attempted to cross the street to the Datsun. But the Hispanic driver sped away as well. _Poor guy, he's probably here illegally, and afraid I'd turn him in._

When Mulder turned, he could tell that his partner had reached the breaking point. _You drove her there, G-man._ He saw her head slumped on the steering wheel, her shoulders shaking. He heard her gasping as she wrestled with her emotions. He returned to the car, opening the driver's door to speak to Scully.

But the woman with ravens-black hair touched his hand, calling his attention away. "If you need a witness, it was the Jag that started everything. Your friend here had to scramble not to hit me."

Mulder nodded, kneeling again.

She reached in her handbag for a slip of paper that she left on the dashboard. "Call me, okay? My E-mail address and phone numbers are all there. Thank you!" Her parting remark was delivered to his partner.

Mulder reached over to hold Scully's shoulder, but she left her head down on the steering wheel. He glanced quickly at the business card before shoving it in his pocket: Ana Badb Morgan, Consultant. He wondered whether the single N was an affectation before dismissing her as another political type the DC area seemed to attract.

All distractions aside, he focused on the shaking woman before him. "Scully, it's okay. You did the right thing. You're okay, no one was hurt." He kept attempting to reassure her, rubbing his hand around the point of her shoulder in circles, but the events of the past few days had overwhelmed even her nerves. Finally, he could think of nothing better to help her. "Come on, Scully, step out of there, breathe a little fresh air." After unbuckling her lap belt, he guided her out of the car, staying close while she leaned against the door. Since he had nearly killed her, Mulder expected Scully to move as far away from him as possible, but instead found that she was huddling against his side.

As he watched, she began reassembling her composure, piece by laborious piece, the tremors stilling, her face clearing. By the time the Arlington police car pulled up behind the Honda, she was standing clear of him, her cool, professional self once again.

Astonished once more by her iron will, he grasped her shoulder before he turned to the uniformed officer. _But what is the emotional cost of this shell you've so carefully assembled, partner?_

-o-0-o-

Apartment 5  
Alexandria, Virginia  
Tuesday, 7:45 pm

The message light on the answering machine was blinking in the darkness when the partners, still subdued by the evening's events, arrived. After displaying their FBI badges, Mulder had recited the Jag's license number, but it was a night when such incidents were common, so the police had taken their statements, then sent them on their way.

Mulder rested his fingers by the clear, raised message button. "Scully? Should I check that?

She shrugged as she headed for the kitchen with their congealed food.

Mulder tapped once, setting the tape within spinning.

Margaret Scully's voice sounded from the speaker. "Honey, it's Mom, and I have another letter here. I'm driving over to DC tomorrow, and I wondered if you were at your place or still in Baltimore. Call me. Bye." Her daughter had walked up to stand beside him as she listened.

As Mulder edged closer to her, Scully lifted the receiver from its cradle before she touched the third speed dial button. She could hear laughter in the background when Margaret answered on the second ring. "Mom, it's me. I'm home and Mulder woke up this afternoon, so he's here too."

"Good, honey, I was worried. He's okay?"

"Yes, he's fine, Mom. We're both just tired from the case, that's all." She glanced up at his troubled eyes. "Sleeping outside in the cold for nearly two weeks would wear down anyone."

He settled his healthy side against her shoulder, grateful for her acceptance of his flaws and weaknesses.

"You sound so, well, strange, dear. Are you really all right?"

"Oh, we were run off the road by some self-important idiot in a Jag, but no one was hurt, Mom." When he rested his hand against her back, she leaned into it, hoping the gesture would be another reminder of her forgiveness. "You're smart to be off the streets until tomorrow. Who's over?"

"Just a few of the neighbors, Dana. After that misfortune, you two should stay where you are for the night. I'll see you tomorrow, and give Fox my love."

"Sure, Mom, bye." She hung up the phone before relaying her Mother's parting words to her partner.

Mulder's shoulders dropped. "Scully, I..."

She was shaking her head emphatically as she faced him. "No, Mulder, we won't dwell on this anymore. You were angrier than I've seen you in a long time, but we're both all right, so it's over and done."

Closing his eyes, he dropped his chin to his chest before tilting his head at her. "If you say so. But I didn't hurt you, really?"

She arched one brow. _Stop worrying about me, you're the one with the cracked rib._ "No, just my pride. I should have knocked you out cold with that blow." She shrugged, her eyes bright. "Just must be hard to keep a good man down."

Her humor finally reaching through his fear, he smiled. "Or a good woman." He glanced down as he touched his side. "Although, once these are healed, if you should need help with your self-defense practice, I would consider it remiss of me, as an employee of the Federal Bureau of Investigations, and purely as your partner, of course, not to volunteer."

She growled, then turned her expression back into a jest. "Oh? Well then, I'll have to hone the blades on my bat'telh to a fine edge before we start." Taking his silence as victory, Scully turned, aiming for her bedroom, returning with tape and gauze.

He grimaced at her approach, but she hit him with the Look, so after showering he dutifully submitted to her probing and bandaging.

-o-0-o-

Apartment 5  
Alexandria, Virginia  
Wednesday, January 1, 1997  
2:23 am

"Where are you taking me? Where am I?"

Mulder lifted his head off the back of the living room chair. _Oh, no, was this the price?_

Scully was stretched out on the sofa in full REM sleep, experiencing what he feared was an abduction nightmare. Over his objections, she had insisted he stay the night so she could monitor his head injury. Now he was glad he had.

A strangled moan escaped her as she began curling into a ball, shaking. "Why are you doing this? No, not another needle! It's too big!"

He moved to sit in the space on the sofa by her head, discovering, once again, how close to the surface of his psyche all his old emotions regarding her abduction were. But, he willed himself to wait, to listen for clues as to who or why, since her hypnosis sessions revealed nothing.

"No, don't cut me, please! I'm a doctor, what do you want to know?" She fell silent, but the shaking continued until finally the tears she worked so hard to suppress earlier this evening began to flow. "Mulder, where are you? Help me!"

Heedless of the pain, he lifted her off the sofa, turning her so her head rested on his chest, encircling her crossed arms with his own. _I never want to hear you call out like that again._ "I'm here, Scully, you're safe with me." He stroked her hair, pushing it off her face, wiping away the tears with his fingers. He knew she needed for this struggle to be over, as did he, since they had no idea what was coming next, only that they had to stand strong and prepared together. _It's just fatigue._ That had been her message to him earlier; he fervently hoped she was right.

Gradually she felt his presence, then forced herself to awaken. "Mulder?" Her voice was quiet, not frantic. As the tightly clenched muscles relaxed, she inhaled deeply before she opened her eyes. "I was on a table, under a bright light, but it was so cold."

He continued to wait in silence, supporting her with one arm, holding her face with the other hand, ignoring the shooting pains cramping his side. _Tell me something. Give me any hint of where you are, of who is testing on you._

Her hands dropped to her stomach, then she poked it gently. "It's not swollen up like a balloon." She met his eyes. "It was, then, you know. They wanted to check something, and I could feel a needle in my back." Her hand slipped around behind her, touching the location of the implant from the second abduction.

In agony from the rib, Mulder shifted his weight, bringing a leg up to help steady her while taking the pressure off his muscles.

When she felt him shudder, she was instantly herself again, turning around on the sofa to reach for his arm.

He gritted his teeth. "No, I'll be fine. You were talking about your abduction. Go on."

Scully had his shirt pushed up, the bandages off, to examine the bruises, probe the bone beneath. "It's gone, all gone. I can't remember now. What did I say?"

Wincing, he lifted her fingers away, attempting to smooth the gauze back in place. "Nothing that made any sense. You were talking as if they were performing surgery on you, but you were awake and in terrible pain. I had to do something to help you." He ran one hand down her back, resting it finally where she had. "It scared me, hearing you cry out like that after all this time."

Sitting up, she rubbed her face. "We're both exhausted, mentally and physically. If we could disappear to an island resort for a few weeks-" She paused. _What, no cracks about three hour tours?_ "-we might begin to recover, but we have too much to lose here." She looked back at him. "I didn't strike out at you, did I?"

He bit his lip. _It wouldn't be like I didn't deserve it._ "No, not this time. Can I get you anything, some water or herbal tea?"

As she adjusted the bandages, she considered. "I'm too tired. I want to sleep without nightmares." Dropping her hand to his knee, she sent him a silent request.

He nodded. _Anything, just ask._

She settled down, resting her head on a throw pillow she moved against his thigh. They had often done this in the months she had taken to recover from her surgeries.

After covering her with the Maya blanket, he turned on the television to numb his own fears. "That warm enough?"

Her answer was a sleepy mumble.

-o-0-o-

Apartment 5  
Wednesday, 7:12 am

"Dana, Fox, are you both all right?"

As Mulder lifted his hand off her shoulder to rub his face, Scully threw back the covering. She had heard Margaret's key turned in the lock, but was only halfway to the door when the older Scully opened it.

Margaret called to them both. "Dana? Fox?"

The red-haired woman held out her arms, accepting the excited ball of fur. "Fuzzy!"

Chastened by his actions, Mulder hung back, but Margaret would have none of it, so walked forward to greet him. "Fox, dear."

He shivered as her arms pressed against his ribs, then suppressed a gasp by biting his lip. _More penance, Mulder._

Margaret released him when he flinched. "She told me where she is."

His eyes snapped to full alertness. "My Mom? Where?"

Margaret took the chair by the door, noticing the dirty plates and balled up blanket. "In Vienna, Fox, she and Max are at your Uncle's. Here." She handed him the blue pages, minus the last, which contained Caroline's special request. For her friend, she would use all her maternal wiles on these two.

As he read, Scully carried the plates to the kitchen sink. "How was the drive, Mom?"

The dog's toenails clicked on the wooden floor behind the Agent. The ransacking had ruined her carpet, so during one of their extended field trips, the landlord had removed it and refinished the floor underneath at Scully's expense.

Margaret circled the room, saddened by the missing photos and souvenirs. "Not bad, considering."

Refolding the pages, Mulder slipped the letter back into its envelope. "She sounds so happy." The upbeat sentence emerged from a grim face. _She's never coming back._ "She'll write me directly now, she says." _It must be bad news._

Correctly divining his mood, Margaret walked over to touch his shoulder. "Don't worry, Fox, you're her son and she won't abandon you." When he glanced up at her, she could see his customary self-torture beginning. "Did you ring in the New Year with Dana?"

He shook his head. _She doesn't need to worry._ "We must be aging, Mrs. Scully. Once we sat down to turn on Times Square, the next sound we heard was not the countdown, but you knocking on the door."

Scully reentered her living room, one hand idly stroking the Pomeranian, now under her arm.

Margaret smiled. "Oh, then this should be a good year."

Mulder frowned as his partner set the dog on the floor before she folded the blanket over the back of the sofa. "What?"

As her Mother resumed her seat, Scully explained. "It's a Scottish custom, Mulder. If a woman is the first one to cross the threshold of a home after the stroke of midnight, then the house will suffer misfortune. But Mom handed me Wee Willie here, so we'll have good luck throughout the year."

Margaret smiled at the 'we.'

Mulder rubbed behind the ears of the Pomeranian, who had jumped into Scully's lap. "I shudder to think that the Red Menace controls my Fate, Scully. Does this mean I owe him a walk?"

"Yes!" Mother and Daughter answered simultaneously, so, after a quick stop in the bathroom, he complied, grumbling good-naturedly.

As the door closed, Margaret slipped the last page of the letter from her purse to pass it to her daughter.

Scully read the few lines before she returned the paper, nodding. "I think we can be there, Mom. We're both so beaten down from this homeless investigation that several days in Annapolis could be considered sick leave, rather than vacation. Director Skinner *has* offered us administrative leave for the rest of the holiday season."

Margaret moved to the sofa, resting her hand on her daughter's knee. "I know, Dana. You both look like you've had neither a good night's rest nor a full meal in weeks." She smiled. "Although Fox does look better clean-shaven. Some men, including your Father, can never grow a beard, no matter how many times they try."

Scully frowned. "Ahab had a beard? When?"

Margaret walked across the room to gaze out the window at the first few cowled and bundled joggers passing on the sidewalk. "On every extended shore leave before you kids came along. Even after two months, his was as scraggly as Fox's." She gave her oblivious daughter what she hoped was a significant stare.

When Scully caught on, the implication set her fuming. "Mo-om, No! Not that again! Mulder and I are *not* considering a romantic 'relationship'. I don't want it, he doesn't want it, and the Bureau *certainly* doesn't want it." She rose. "We're under constant scrutiny by certain people who would be *delighted* to use it against us if we fell prey to..." She shook her head, the tumbled auburn hair falling over her face. _I can never tell her about last night._ "Just let it drop, okay? Last fall was absolute hell for both of us, and things are clicking again now. The X-Files, for once, have significant outside support, not just bad publicity."

Margaret held up her hands. _I had to try, Caroline._ "It's all right, dear. You were right, I shouldn't have brought it up." She turned back to the window, watching Mulder trot along behind the dog, his arm fully extended by the little canine straining at the leash. _Dana's right, they *are* both worn to the bone._ "Fox is bringing the dog back, dear. I'll ask him about Epiphany, if you like."

Scully nodded. "Thanks, Mom, I need to hit the restroom."

Margaret puzzled over her daughter's reaction to her hints as she opened the door for her surrogate son and the Pomeranian. "Fox, you look tired."

He shrugged.

Once they settled on the sofa, the dog jumped into the older woman's lap, almost as soon as Mulder unclipped the braided rope to coil it on the coffeetable.

With a look of resignation on her face, Scully took the chair upon her return. "Maybe you should keep him, Mom, he spends most of the time at your house anyway, and after what happened to the apartment, I wouldn't want anything to happen to him, too."

Margaret stroked the long fur, considering. "Only if you wouldn't miss him too much. He is a dear little thing, and so loves to sleep on the bed at night. Are you sure?"

Scully nodded. "I'm sure, Mom. Besides, I'll see him at least once a month anyway, so it's not like he's really leaving."

Margaret cleared her throat. "Fox?"

Mulder had leaned back on the sofa during the discussion. "Yes, Mrs. Scully?"

"Since you and Dana missed Christmas altogether, I'd like to invite you to Annapolis from whenever you'd like to get there through at least January Sixth."

Mulder rubbed his face. He wanted to take her up on the offer, as Margaret Scully was his second closest woman friend, but he was uncomfortable presuming on her hospitality so soon after the events of yesterday. _She doesn't know. Just don't wake up screaming about it and she'll never find out. She'll hate me if she does, because I wasn't just late, I was the one that made Scully suffer._ He checked his partner, who was smiling encouragement from across the room at him. "Scully, if we head in to the Bureau tomorrow and Friday, I think we can start on some of the paperwork that's been piling up."

Dana Scully nodded. "Sure, you're the Section Head. As long as you take it easy and we don't go crawling through the sewers after mutants, you should be all right."

Mulder cocked his head at her. _You're the Section Head? Something's afoot here, that was too easy._

Margaret Scully was grinning like a cat when he turned to her.

He smirked. _Oh, no, they're both in on it. You're a dead man, Mulder._ "Okay, Mrs. Scully, we'll be there from Friday night through Tuesday."

Margaret rose. _I hope you'll be there for longer than that._ "Thank you, both of you. I need to visit some friends in Springfield, the Richardsons, Dana, you remember, from Norfolk?"

Scully frowned. "No, I don't, but Ahab was working out of there mostly when I was in college."

Margaret leaned over to kiss her child on the cheek. "Yes, of course, that's right. So you never had the chance to meet their boy Craig? He's about your age and ..."

Scully pursed her lips to growl. "Mo-om!"

Margaret left. _So much for the gentle dig._

When the latch clicked behind his partner's mother, Mulder turned to Scully. "Well, what's her hurry? I've never heard her push you about men before."

She sighed. "Since my biological clock has run down for good, I really don't know, Mulder." She moved to the sofa. "I think that was all about one man, unfortunately."

He shifted to relieve the pressure on his side. "Oh. Me. Do you suppose that was all our mothers talked about when they were together?"

His partner rolled her eyes. "By the way, how is your Mother?"

He smiled, but his face was shrouded. "She sounds happy, Scully, here." He passed her the envelope, somberly watching her read. "I've lost her, haven't I? I'll never see her again."

She moved closer to him, knowing anything she said would be lost on him in his present mood, so she waited beside him in silence. _Oh, Mulder._

They were both beginning to drowse when the phone rang. The pathologist pulled herself upright, while her partner half-rose to his feet.

Scully reached for the unit. "Scully." A pause. "Good Morning, Byers."

Mulder, now focused, was listening intently.

"The microphones?"

He stood up over her.

"Really? Thanks. We'll be right over."

-o-0-o-

Lone Gunmen's Office  
Alexandria, Virginia  
Wednesday, 9:15 am

"Hey, guys, Happy New Year's." Byers held the door, puzzled, as Scully stepped back to wave Mulder in first.

Langly's long hair hung over the arm of one of the sofas, his horn-rimmed glasses askew as he snored.

Scully bent over him, tickling his nose with the fringe on her wool scarf.

"Hump? What?" The blond Gunman lurched to his feet, adjusting the frames on his face. "Oh, hey Doc." Rubbing his nose, he apologized. "Too much bubbly last night."

Frohike emerged from the office, flinging his arms open wide when he saw them. "Mulder, lovely Dana! A hug for the New Year?"

For their separate reasons, each responded negatively.

Langly walked into the office, focused on the wiretaps. "Byers and I worked up the microphones, G-man."

Mulder followed the sound of his muffled voice, Scully close on his heels, but as far away as possible from Frohike.

Langly glanced up when the four joined him. "Yeah, whoever built these is one sharp operator. When I began tracing the circuit layout, man oh man, was I surprised!" He powered up their network analyzer, several RF signal generators, and four high frequency oscilloscopes, all showing the wear and tear of purchase from government surplus. One of the microphones lay on the workbench, microprobe leads running from it to the test equipment. "You see, each microphone had its own ID code that was broadcast along with the signal."

Mulder shrugged. "So?"

Byers dropped a photograph of Margaret Scully's home on the workbench, tapping the dark green of the trees behind the barns. "So, the thing I kept wondering about was this. Your mother, Scully, never reported any surveillance vehicles in the area, right?"

She nodded.

"All the microphones run off batteries, so they are either of limited life, or they don't have to transmit too far."

Scully's finger circled the satellite dish in front of the chimney. "It would be easy if the signals only had to reach here."

Langly smiled. "You got it, Doc. I'll bet if you go check the electronics attached to the receiver antenna on the roof, you'll discover they've been replaced with circuitry that allows the mikes to broadcast directly on the Ku band signal."

Mulder ran his hand through his hair. "So she should hold out for cable?"

Scully tucked her hair behind her ear. "Not necessarily, Mulder, the satellite dish made it easy for them, but they could, with minor modifications, have used a radio antenna, if the home had one, or even the cable lines themselves."

Langly pushed a photo enlargement of the microcircuit in front of them. "Since each mike is individually ID'ed and time coded, they could monitor where and when conversations were occurring. With a satellite uplink, they could pull down the data from the other side of the world, if they wanted."

Frohike leaned over the workbench. "These guys are good, Mulder. We'll have to change our surveillance and detection schemes ourselves to keep ahead of them. But, I have something on that guy you saw in the picture with Max." He dropped several more glossies on the table in front of them. "He's a high society type, just as I suspected. His offices in Manhattan are, or were, outfitted to the hilt with Old Masters, China, crystal, you name it. Back when, he actually assisted Max with some of his recovery work, and he's been big into art ever since. Last trip he took out of the country, in fact, was to London to meet with an artist named Eric Conners."

Mulder frowned. "What do you mean, were?"

The Gunmen looked at each other, then Frohike explained quietly. "The office building was destroyed in a pipe bomb explosion last month. They pulled several of bodies out, people with power and influence, Mulder. We think it was your Shadow Committee that bought the farm."

The agents were stunned, Scully touching her partner's shoulder. "Mulder, who would have done this? *He* mentioned he no longer had any power or a position, so it wasn't *him*."

The Gunmen exchanged puzzled glances. _He? Him?_

Mulder was pacing, angry. "Why didn't Skinner tell us? This rezeros everything, can't he see? The MJ tape, the papers, the medals, all of it means nothing. You said Max is involved with these men? What has my Mother done?"

Scully blocked his path, so he waited, frustrated, while she theorized. "It may not be what you think, Mulder. Remember, he was pulling art out at the same time the Mafia conduit was open. It may well be that our elegant Shadow was spying on Max so they could track what he found out, not that he was working with them."

Byers settled into a computer chair. "She's probably right, Mulder."

The agents turned to him, puzzled.

The bearded Gunman continued. "All contact between the two of them ended shortly after Max finished in Germany and began collecting on his own. Your guy basically disappeared, popping up occasionally at art shows and the like."

Frohike waved his hands over his head. "There's another connection here, Mulder. That Eric Conners guy is living with an old friend of yours."

Mulder groaned. "Don't tell me."

"Oh, yes, Phoebe Green."

The agent's eyes narrowed. "So she is working for them after all. Find out everything you can on the Inspector's live-in." He turned to Scully. "Tomorrow I make a phone call across the Atlantic so Phoebe and I can have a real talk."

"I think so, Mulder. Despite her protestations, she always had it in for you, even this time when she was all innocent and aggrieved helpfulness."

Frohike stood behind her, his eyes twinkling. "Ooh, hiss, spit, lovely Dana. Can I watch?"

Throwing her arms up in frustration, Scully headed out to the car.

Mulder grinned as he followed her out, tossing his thanks over his shoulder.

-o-0-o-

Police Station  
Sharpsburg, Pennsylvania  
Friday, January 3, 1997  
8:39 am

Richard McCooms ushered Max and Phoebe forward. "Agent Collins, Agent Lomas, this is Max Lowenberg and Inspector Phoebe Green."

Huddled in the bare office of a Captain on leave, the four exchanged handshakes.

McCooms continued. "The duplicate is finished, so we can begin our sting operation as soon as our field agents are in place."

The svelte woman from Customs smiled at the white-haired man. "I've read the records of your efforts at the war's end, Mister Lowenberg. You've saved so much that would otherwise have been carted off to the Hermitage or lost."

He shrugged as he sat down on the front of the desk. "Such beauty was never meant to be locked away. But, I couldn't work fast enough to save it all. Some of the pieces disappeared right out of the warehouses on the docks in Bremen and I never could discover what happened to those."

Lomas rose from one of the two chairs in front of the desk. "Your copyist is no hack himself. I've peeked at the canvas, and if it weren't that I knew it was a forgery, well, I'd put down the money myself."

Phoebe smiled. "Eric would be delighted to hear you say that. He's not much for the human figure, but it is wonderful. So, how many are going in and when?"

Lomas began describing their plan.

When he finished, Max pointed to the desk phone. "Think I can make a call?" When Collins nodded, he punched in his Miami home phone number. As he waited, he glanced at Phoebe. "Would you like to ring Eric while we have the time?"

She shook her head. "His mother doesn't have a phone in Kingston."

Max smiled as he lifted the speaker to his mouth. "Caroline? How was the flight?"

-o-0-o-

Second Floor  
J. Edgar Hoover Building  
Friday, 8:18 am

"Well, Mulder, what do you think?"

The X-Files agents were marking out space in the adjoining offices they would be occupying in a month or so.

Mulder was slouched against one of his two windows, watching his partner through their shared door. "It looks so big, Scully." _And you'll be all the way over there!_

She passed into his office, smiling. "The ten million filing cabinets will fill it up quickly, but if you like, I'll switch with you." Hers was not a corner office, so had only one, smaller window.

He smirked at her hidden agenda. "No, I think I'll adjust. We'll be in and out of each other's offices so much anyway it won't matter." He scuffed the carpet with his foot, pushing the deep salt and pepper pile down. _I'll lose my seeds in here!_

Scully closed the distance between them. "But?"

He looked up at her. "Krycek. I keep thinking about Krycek. I don't want to go through that again. How do I know I'll be able to trust two other agents, let alone a secretary?"

Crossing her arms as she faced him, she leaned on the wall. _You, trust? What about *we* trust._ "We get to pick them out; they don't. Skinner has already arranged for that, *and* we don't have to take any of them if we don't like them, secretary included." She lifted one eyebrow. "Although with the promotions, we will be handling more paperwork." She poked his chest once to emphasize the point. "And I do mean *we*, *partner*."

He bent over her. "But, you're so much better at it than I am!"

Vacillating between mirth and frustration, she leaned into his face. "So, *you* need the practice."

Grinning, he straightened, storing this new ammunition away for future badinage. "C'mon, slavedriver, lunch should be over by now in foggy London."

-o-0-o-

Basement  
J. Edgar Hoover Building  
Friday, 12:47 pm

"Mulder, that's the fifth time you've tried her flat number today. If Eric Conners was working out of the place, at all, he would have answered by now."

Mulder sighed as he replaced the receiver. "Scully, sometimes I think I'm being given some kind of runaround. The Yard says Phoebe is in Vienna, and Isaac says she's in London."

She crossed her arms over the open drawer of the file cabinet to rest her chin on them. "You've spoken with your Uncle?"

Leaning back, Mulder propped both feet up on the desk, interlacing his fingers behind his head. "Yeah. He's delighted every time I phone, and it takes a good half hour each time to disentangle myself from him. Something's up." He checked her expression, as serene as a sleeping tabby's. _Both there and here._

She checked her watch. "We have that meeting with Skinner in ten minutes." She restuffed the drawer, then slammed it shut. "I'll be glad to move upstairs, actually."

He was pushing down his sleeves before he slipped on his jacket. "Why, just so you can straighten all this stuff up?" He cocked his head at her.

She tucked a notepad under her arm as they left the basement to wait for the elevator. "No, Mulder, I'm dreading that. _I don't enjoy fighting with you over trivia._ Up there, we'll only be one flight of stairs away from Skinner's office, and we won't have to run so far when he calls these meetings."

When the doors opened, he touched her shoulder, guiding her in. _I don't want to wrangle with you over such little things, Scully._

-o-0-o-

Kingston, Jamaica  
Friday, 12:57 pm

Eric Conners and his mother had their bare feet propped up on the railing of their restored Victorian home, brightly painted in six shades of green and white. They waved reflexively as a carload of tourists passed, camera shutters clicking at the Painted Lady and its owners on a maroon deacon's bench.

Viola Conners, rounded by middle age and four children, flapped the front of her cotton blouse. "So, you truly love this girl from Oxford, this Scotland Yard Inspector, Eric?"

"Yes, Mamo, I do."

"And she does not think herself too good for you?"

"No, Mamo, she doesn't. She's so very happy now that we're together. She loves to sit and watch me paint."

His mother stopped fanning herself to sip from a tall glass of iced tea. "But that won't carry you two for your whole lives. She's told you already she broke hearts before she met you. Why should she change now? Let her go, Eric, this is no good."

He shook his head. "Just spend time with her, Mamo, you will see."

Viola dropped her feet from the railing, setting the folds of her pantsuit flowing. "And she's felt your temper?"

He closed his eyes. "Once, Mamo, and she forgave me immediately."

"Then perhaps all will go well, Eric. I'll need to meet her, as you say. Once I read her soul, I will know."

-o-0-o-

Office of the Assistant Director  
Friday, 1:01 pm

"Agents." Walter Skinner gestured to the seats across from him. "I brought you in here to show you this police report we received this morning." He leaned over his desk, handing a folder to Scully. "The Reston police consider the photos in there highly confidential. I'd like you both to take a look at the contents, please." Turning his back on them, he slipped his hands in his pockets, then stared at the browned grass through the Venetian blinds.

The top cover of the folder slid down the arm of Scully's chair, then she gasped at the visage in the forensic photo staring blankly up at her. As she passed the print to her partner, Skinner turned to observe his agents' faces. After giving the image a quick glance, Mulder dropped the papers in his lap, before hid his head in his hands.

Scully scanned the report, noting that the cause of death was a single gunshot wound to the temple, made with a 9 mm round at close range. The autopsy also indicated bruising on the neck prior to death. She spoke her partner's name softly, running her finger under a line in the report.

Skinner leaned on his chair. "So, do we talk, people?"

They jumped.

He sat, glowering at Mulder, who was ashen, unable to meet his eyes. "Agent Scully?"

She shook her head.

Skinner stood again, clearing his throat. "Well, I don't know about you two, but I could use some lunch. I'll take you both out to celebrate your promotions?"

As her partner slumped further in his chair, Scully shot their boss a look of gratitude as she dropped the collected documents on Skinner's desk.

"No." Mulder forced the words out.

"Yes." Scully hissed her response, rising to leave, fixing her partner with one of those withering glares Skinner had been happy never to have received. "We'll just get our coats, Sir, and meet you back here."

-o-0-o-

Chadwicks, Georgetown  
Washington, DC  
Friday, 1:37 pm

The lunch crowd was dispersing, so the three had their pick of seats, choosing a booth in the back that had no direct view from the outside. Skinner fixed his eyes on the tall man. "What isn't in the report is that the Reston crime lab was able to lift fingerprints off the man's collar, Agent Mulder. They were sent here for analysis, which is how I was made aware of this matter in the first place." Settling back, he crossed his arms. "I've stuck my neck out for you, and I don't intend to feel cold steel on it. So talk, both of you."

Mulder gave his partner the most pitiful lost child look he could muster.

She dipped her head once, then turned to their boss. "The man was in Mulder's apartment on Tuesday evening when we both arrived. I was bringing Agent Mulder home from the hospital, Sir. An argument ensued, but he left Mulder's apartment under his own power, and rather precipitately."

Nodding, Skinner turned to Mulder. "Is this true?"

His barely audible response was delivered to the table. "Yes."

The Assistant Director curled both hands around his coffee mug. "Look, Mulder, if you attacked this guy, I can't say I fault you at all. There have been times I've wanted to shoot him myself, but now is the wrong time to hide things from me. Is there anything else?"

The silence was deafening.

Scully touched her partner's hand before she replied. "Agent Mulder and I quarreled about the visit afterward, Sir."

The Assistant Director noted the gesture of support.

Mulder raised his head, focusing on a burned-out light in the ceiling. "He wasn't the only one I ... struck, Sir."

Finally understanding the guilt and the fear, Skinner nodded. "Very well. I'll tell forensics to release our findings ..."

Two horrified faces stared. "What?"

"... that Agent Mulder had met with the man prior to his death, but has no knowledge of the man's whereabouts after...?" He looked from one to the other.

Mulder shrugged, finally speaking in his normal voice. "Six thirty in the evening on the thirty-first." He jerked his head towards his partner. "Agent Scully drove me to her apartment afterward, Sir. He'd been waiting for some time. My place *smelled*."

Skinner nodded.

"We were forced off the road by a lawyer in a Jag on Glebe Road, where the Arlington Police stopped by to take our statements around seven."

Skinner took off his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I'll relay that to the Reston police as well, since the estimated time of death was between 6:45 and 7:15 pm on the thirty-first. The body was discovered around eight. I guess your lawyer in the Jag did you a real favor, Mulder."

The younger man stared at the approaching waitress. "I was their best lead."

Skinner sighed. "Their only, as a matter of fact."

Scully sipped her mineral water. "Sometimes there is justice, isn't there?"

-o-0-o-

Basement  
Friday, 3:45 pm

"Scully?"

She looked up from her field notes, but left her hands on the keyboard. "Hum?"

"Traffic will probably be heavy about an hour from now, wouldn't you say?"

She frowned, pressing her glasses back up on the bridge of her nose. "Maybe coming into the city, Mulder, but this place ... has ... been ... des ..." Her hands flew as she saved the document, then exited the word processor while he watched. "Really heavy, Mulder. If we don't shake a leg, it will take three hours to reach Annapolis to research that other case."

"I would think so." He rose, pulling his own coat off the coat rack, slipping it on before helping his partner with hers. "Besides, we had all those calls to Europe to make, and with the time lag, we had to be here about, oh, six?"

They grinned as they collected their bags before they exited, Mulder locking the door.

-o-0-o-

Residence  
Sharpsburg, Pennsylvania  
Friday, 4:03 pm

Lindhauer studied the faces of the two across the room from him. "I see, Mister Lowenberg. Thank you for acting as my intermediary in all this. You understand we will need to authenticate the painting before I pay you?"

Max nodded. He and Phoebe were waiting on a delicate settee, surrounded by paintings and sculptures.

Their owner, an intense young man with fine blond hair, rose from a facing sofa to walk over to Eric's copy, admiring the work. "I'm sorry the museum in Haifa has fallen on hard times, but I must say, I won't be too heartbroken to acquire a piece of such significance. You and your associate have shown excellent judgment to bring it to the US and not to Japan where the Nineteenth Century works are less popular."

They nodded as the man faced them.

"Let me keep this for a day or two, so my experts can X-ray the canvas, sample the paints, and perform the usual verification tests. I know you wouldn't try to cheat me, would you?"

Max laughed, Phoebe finding herself envious of the old man's aplomb. "The Museum has no reason to pass off a fraud, Mister Lindhauer. This is only the first piece that will be let go to cover debts, and if it were to come out that we were selling fakes ..." He shrugged.

Lindhauer smirked. _Desperate lambs volunteering for the slaughter._ "As I said, I'll contact you in a day or two. Let me show you the way out, so you can take your manuscripts to the University. I'd be perfectly willing to purchase those as well, but, as you say, they *are* for posterity."

-o-0-o-

The pair slid into the Fiat, Max at the wheel. "Now all we have to do is wait. Once they call back and offer money, Customs can sweep in, looking for the missing pieces they suspect he has, and maybe he can be put away for good."

Phoebe smiled at Max as they drove away. "You're good at this, you know." After nearly pulling out into an oncoming truck at a light, the Inspector had gladly yielded him the wheel on the way to the house.

He glanced over as he steered the Toyota onto the main road. "I did have practice during the years after the War, since covert operations were sometimes the only way to free up the art that had made its way down to Bolivia. I hope Caroline is settling in with no problems. Given what has already happened, I hate leaving her alone down in Miami this long."

Phoebe nodded. "She can take care of herself, Mister Lowenberg. Now I know which parent Mulder inherited his resolve from."

After accelerating into the middle lane, Max settled back into a comfortable driving position. "May I ask you something, Phoebe?"

She glanced quickly at a passing road sign before responding to his unspoken question. "I don't know how to describe Mulder to you, Mister Lowenberg. That is what you're thinking about, isn't it?"

A nod.

"He was very quiet at University."

"That's interesting, Phoebe. His mother mentioned the same thing."

"He's very introspective, Max. Oh, he has the strangest sense of humor, part flirting and part probing analysis. Sometimes he comes across as very shallow, but that's just because he thinks deeply about a few things and ignores the rest of the world."

"So he has a few passionate interests?"

Remembering sensual explorations in a tiny Scholar's room, Phoebe smiled at the white-haired driver. "Yes, I would say he has passion, all right."

-o-0-o-

Elevator  
Arlington Apartment Building  
Friday 4:37 pm

"Still no fish, Mulder?" Leaning against the far wall, Scully lifted her duffel bag strap over her shoulder.

Mulder pressed the L on the control panel, pushing at his garment bag on the floor with his foot. "No time. I meant to go last night, but, well..." He punched the pause button, then shot her an unfathomable look.

"Mulder, what are you doing?"

He was digging in the front pocket of his bag, but for a fleeting instant, she shivered. He caught her discomfort out of the corner of his eye. "Afraid of elevators, Scully?"

She was staring at the door in the ceiling. "A little, especially when they stop between floors like this."

He tipped his head to catch her eye.

She pursed her lips. "Yes, I know the safety mechanisms to prevent free-fall were perfected over a century ago, but..." Tapping her foot, she stared at the access door again, jumping when he took her arm to straighten her fingers, turning the palm up. "Mulder! Oh."

He had tentatively placed a silver box tied with a red ribbon in it, but was staring at the carpet, his own hands shoved in his pockets.

"Mulder? I haven't bought you anything."

He lifted an eyebrow at her, waiting.

Dropping to her knees, she set her bag down to rest the box on top of it. Once opened, she stared at the contents in silence, overwhelmed, finally managing a soft "Oh."

Anxious, he knelt beside her, bending down to check her face. "Don't you like it?"

She lifted the delicate China dog out of its padded box, turning it in her palm, smiling at the cocked ears. "He's so ... sweet. Thank you, Mulder."

"He doesn't need to be walked or fed, and you do have a bare curio cabinet to fill." The words tumbled out in a rush. "But I didn't want to give you that in front of your Mother and hurt her feelings."

Chewing her lip, she nestled the figurine back in its packaging, slipping the gift box inside a sweater. "You're right. Do you mind if we stop by my place on the way out so it isn't even an issue?"

A quick grin, then Mulder was standing by the controls. "Yeah, sure."

Hoisting her bag again, she moved across the elevator car to him. "Thank you."

He released the car to move. As they continued downward, glanced at the hand she had tucked under his arm. Wrestling with the sorrow and gratitude he felt, he touched her fingers. "You're welcome." _After the past year, that you're still here is gift enough._ "Besides, I had to pay you back for that divine alligator."

-o-0-o-

Annapolis, Maryland  
Saturday, January 4, 1997  
2:15 am

"Stop it! That hurts!"

Mulder jolted awake, hearing words from his sleeping partner's lips that chilled him, from a time he hoped she would never revisit. But, just as on New Year's Eve when she had awakened after crying out about her abductions, she was reliving those horrors now. They had been watching the AFC wildcard game from Los Angeles, when she had moved from the sofa to the two-seater to rest, knowing that he could not use Melissa's bed tonight.

Mulder slipped off the couch to reach for her, sliding her head onto his shoulder, one arm wrapped around her back, the other gently stroking her face. If he could awaken her slowly, she might remember something further about her abductions. His stubborn insistence that her abductors were aliens had been part of the rift that had formed between them the previous year. Now, as she shivered and whimpered, any arguments about who paled against the pain he desperately wanted to soothe away.

Scully swatted at nothingness. "No! No!"

The cries woke Margaret Scully, who flew to her daughter's bedroom. _She's downstairs._ She could hear Mulder crooning to her. "Fox? What's wrong?" She descended the stairs two at a time.

Scully was cradled in Mulder's arms, as she begged unseen persons not to hurt her. "Mulder, help me!"

Margaret could see her daughter's words cleave him, struggling with his own torments, to his very soul as he tightened his hold on her.

Distraught, he looked up. "She's not awake, Mrs. Scully. She's still trapped in the dream, and it's hard to bring her out of it. I've tried to listen to her when this happens until I can't take any more, but all I hear are disjoint phrases and calls for help."

Nodding her understanding, Margaret began stroking her daughter's hair, whispering meaningless words of comfort.

Between them, Scully slowly shook off the dream images, releasing her grip on Mulder's neck. Still soothing her, he lowered her back to the cushions, until she grasped her Mother's hand. "Mom? Is that you?"

"Yes, Dana, I'm here," Margaret looked up at the tall agent, now seated as close to her as he could manage on the end of the sofa.

He was pale and shaken, sweat beading above lips firmly pressed together, concentrating on driving the pain far out of his mind as long as Scully needed his support.

Finally, the pathologist sat up to speak to her partner. "Thank you, Mulder. I'm sorry if I hurt you."

He shrugged.

Margaret moved between them, resting a hand on each shoulder. "How long have the dreams been bothering you again, Dana?" The nightmares had come often in the months following her return, but had gradually dropped away to infrequent to never, as far as Margaret knew.

Scully frowned. _Why am I revisiting this now?_

Her partner answered. "Since New Year's Eve, Mrs. Scully." He extended his hand to clasp Margaret's, but Mulder spoke directly to his partner. "I know you didn't want your Mom to know, but there are more violent images coming out during your sleep."

"Mulder, I can't remember the contents of any of the dreams at all."

He rubbed his eyes, then shifted his weight onto the cushions. "You never have, Scully, but now you're starting to be aware of them after you awaken, unlike a year ago. I think you were given an hypnotic suggestion to suppress the memories of your abduction at the end of whatever was done to you. But, with the stress we've both been under, I think that block is beginning to break down."

Margaret sat by Mulder. "This couldn't be related to her second abduction?"

He lifted his hands in an 'I don't know' gesture, his eyes bleak and anxious.

"Why would someone want her to forget, Fox?"

After arranging the afghan over herself, Scully leaned forward. "I'm a doctor, Mom. If I remembered the details of the procedure, it might be a clue as to who abducted me and why."

Mulder rubbed the ache in his side. "Or, Scully, it was to keep you from identifying whoever was involved. You started to recall when you were at the Leper Colony, but my actions kept you from continuing that process."

Margaret gasped, then looked from one to the other. "Dana, what is Fox talking about? You were at a Leper Colony?"

Scully lifted an eyebrow at him. _She doesn't need to know._ "Mom, we've seen things no one was ever meant to have seen, and you don't need to hear them, so forget we said anything."

"But you're my daughter and you've almost died twice because of these ... things."

"No, Mom, it's better that you don't know."

Mulder faced Margaret, taking one of her hands in his. "Mrs. Scully, this may be related to whoever bugged the house, and those men would kill for the least significant reasons imaginable. The less you know, the safer you are. They took Sam, killed my Father and Melissa to protect themselves, and drove my Mother into hiding in Europe. I don't want anything to happen to you as well, so please, forget what we've said."

Margaret Scully's gentle face darkened with every one of the partners's words. She shuddered, her eyes focused on the neighbor's porch light, visible out the front window. "Is this related to your disappearance in February?"

Mulder put an arm around her shoulders. "No more questions, please, Mrs. Scully. When it's safe to tell you, we will."

Tired of carrying on alone, Margaret began to sob. _That had been such a sweet dream back at Halloween, thinking that Bill was beside me._

Her daughter slipped over to hold her, while Mulder kept her hand in his.

-o-0-o-

Sharpsburg, Pennsylvania  
Saturday, 1:15 pm

At the knock, Lindhauer looked away from his new acquisition to the door. "Yes?"

'Andrew' entered, grim but relieved. "We've tracked him down."

The sallow-faced man was led in, his black hair hanging off his forehead, but he squared his shoulders as he confronted his one-time proteges. "What is the meaning of this? You've killed off nearly everyone else, so why come after me? I'm powerless without the rest of the Committee. Do you know what this destablization will do to the balance of power?"

Lindhauer snarled in the old man's face. "Now you're concerned about that? It's a little late, wouldn't you say? Just days ago, you and the others were sipping tea and congratulating yourself that it's 1973 all over again. Well, someone had to do something, so we did it; we took over. We're cleaning up the remaining loose ends so the other powers will understand that we're still in charge."

"But we had plans! If you had asked any of us before you took these rash actions, we would have told you of them. But now you and your accomplices are on your own, and I hope you're ready for what's coming."

Lindhauer paced the room, the precise steps of his long, thin legs revealing his impatience with his former mentor. "What, the visitors from the stars? Don't you see, you've been waiting for the wrong enemy." He spun on his heel, his eyes intense. "We'll be ready for them, as well as tracking down the others who are running loose on the planet. But we'll be leaner, quicker than you ever were, because we have new technology at our disposal you know nothing about." He turned his back on the old man. "It will be quick and painless, never fear. You taught us that."

As he was led out, the old man spotted Eric's canvas. _Here you thought you were so smart!_ In one last act of desperation, called a warning over his shoulder. "Enjoy your counterfeit art!"

Lindhauer crossed the room in three strides to glare down his long nose. "What? What did you say?"

The man jerked his head towards the painting. "That's a fake. You weren't planning on buying it, were you?"

Lindhauer was astonished. "But it checks out. The X-rays, the canvas, the paints, and the technique are all correct."

The old man laughed. "So much for your technology. I trained myself by eye at the end of the war, when we were stealing paintings out from under the noses of the Allies for our own collections. One sometimes has only a few seconds to recognize the look and feel of an original, and that one doesn't have it. Le Artiste didn't paint like that, but I know who does from the slightly bolder strokes, and I have, or had, some of his pieces."

Enraged, the blond man shook his old mentor by the shoulders. "Who?"

"Eric Conners. He's from Jamaica originally, but he resides in London now."

Releasing his captive, Lindhauer waved his long, thin arm, copying a gesture he had seen so many times before, then turned to 'Andrew.' "We need to set some examples. Send two men for Max Lowenberg and two for Conners. Find them and finish them!" His ice-blue eyes hardening, Lindhauer punched the wall by the canvas as 'Andrew' left.

-o-0-o-

Annapolis, Maryland  
Sunday, January 5, 1997  
8:33 am

"Dibs! I was here first!" Knocking off the stubble as he held the razor under the tap, Mulder smirked at his partner's grumbling.

"You decent?"

The mischievous grin migrated to one corner of his mouth. _Go for it, G-man._ "No."

"Mulder!"

He turned the knob to disengage the lock.

She poked her head in. "Feel like talking?"

He nodded, tilting his chin to shave his neck as Scully entered. She leaned against the sink while she watched him.

Saturday had been a quiet day at the Scully home while Margaret worked through her fears, at times approaching the partners for gentle reassurances. They, too, had used the day for recovery, walking the dog or picking up groceries for the Epiphany supper. Margaret had left the Christmas decorations up, but none of them had been prepared for false cheer or forced gaiety, so had packed Scully's gifts in the trunk, unopened.

"How's your Mom, Scully?"

"Better. Thanksgiving and my nightmares scared her." She reached over to flick off a dab of shaving cream on his shoulder. "She still believes in the government, you know."

"Yeah, well, I'd like to believe too. Perhaps the Shadows are beginning to destroy themselves, and people like your Mom will never need to have their sense of security challenged. If your father and mine are somewhere together right now, I hope Captain Scully is giving him the third degree about having to defend all the things he did." He frowned. "As for your Mom, I'm sorry she's been caught up in all this. She doesn't deserve what's she's going through." Swishing the razor in the accumulated water a final time, Mulder reached for a towel.

Scully shifted her weight to her other leg. "But you do, Mulder?"

They exchanged a glance.

She crossed her arms, staring at her feet. "She asked us to go to Mass today."

He closed his eyes, rubbing his face with the towel. "I know she needs it, Scully, you go. I can't."

"Can't, or won't?"

He opened the door back to his room, so she walked through ahead of him, taking a seat on the bed while he surveyed the clothes in the closet. "Can't, Scully. I've never been very religious, as you know, at least not in the Christian sense. My Father tried to interest me in an Episcopalian youth group once, but my Mom wouldn't stand for it."

She crossed through the bathroom for her medical supplies, returning with tape and bandages. "So they argued over which religion you would be raised in?"

He rolled his eyes, but submitted to her ministrations. _Just like they did over everything else, Scully._ "No angry discussions, really. My parents fought with long silences. They could go for days without speaking, then my Dad would leave on one of his trips, and my Mom would disappear in her room." He held his arm over his head, watching her tape the padding to his side.

Scully looked up, shocked at his casual acceptance of his broken family. "Was this before or after Sam's disappearance?"

"Both. While Sam was still with me, I'd take care of her, get her to school or wherever, fix meals and stuff."

She concentrated on smoothing the tape over his skin without adding to her partner's discomfort. _That's why you're so determined to be my big brother._

He shrugged. "Afterwards, I just took care of myself. Mom was depressed most of the time, so I usually fixed the meals and carried them to her in her room." He closed his eyes. "She'd talk to me some, then. Just little stuff, like she was a hostess or something, but still. When I stayed with Dad, well, I never did anything right, so, eventually I stopped trying."

She picked the black canvas shirt he had selected off the foot of the bed, holding it open for him to slide his arms in. "Mulder, did he?" She rested her hands on his waist as Mulder buttoned the shirt, supporting his upper body to relieve his cramping muscles.

Gritting his teeth, he was surprised to find he was fighting off tears. "Yeah, he did, Scully. The lines on my back?"

She mentally traced the faint scars she had just seen.

"He was never very good at controlling his anger, and with the alcohol ... I never did anything right." He turned to her, his eyes penitent. "That's why ..." He swallowed.

She grasped his forearm. "Mulder, I know you're worried that because you were abused, that what happened the day you came home means you can become abusive yourself, but you won't. I've been around you long enough to know that." She squeezed his elbows. "You're *you*, Fox Mulder, not *him*, William Mulder, okay?"

He tried to show his gratitude, but all he could manage was a hesitant grin under haunted eyes, then he turned away to tuck the shirt in while he composed himself.

Crossing the room, Scully reached for the hooks on the inside of the closet door, then paused, struck by the irony in her next question. "Do you want the black belt or the brown one?"

He coughed once, forcing a glimmer of humor in his tone. "The one with the flying pigs."

She tossed a playful glare over her shoulder.

Her response brought out the trickster in her partner. "This house could use some levity, Scully."

"I always knew you believed in the impossible, Mulder."

"Nah. Just the infinitely improbable. Best way to see the universe." The grin faded. "My Mom tried to convince me to study for a Bar Mitzvah, but Sam had just been taken, and I couldn't see why I should learn anything about a God who let little girls suffer." He walked over to the window, looking out at the woods where they had encountered the Customs Agents. "God does let little girls suffer, and it's okay with him, you know."

Rolling the garish belt around her hand, Scully thought back to all the pictures she saw growing up, of the Madonna and the Infant Jesus and of Christ and the children. _What is he talking about?_

He answered her unspoken question quietly. "Jephthah's daughter." Surprised at her lack of knowledge in this subject, Mulder walked across the room to her. "You know, the Hebrew general who promised God that if he won some battle, he would sacrifice the first thing that greeted him on his return home?"

She was horrified. "Mulder, no."

He nodded, waving the arm on his healthy side as he paced. "Yeah, it was. She runs out to him, all smiles, and he swallows hard, but after two months of her lamenting the fact she'll never marry, or..." He shrugged. "God didn't stop it with angels or rams or anything, so it must have been okay with him." His eyes blazed, but his voice dropped to a whisper. "I don't need a God like that. So, I chose to go without religion, Scully. I wanted to seek my own truth, and I did. Although ..." He held the buckle and waited while she threaded the belt through the loops in the back of his black jeans, brushing her hand as the other end was placed in his grip. "Do you remember the abduction at Lake Okobogee we investigated, oh, three years ago?"

"The little boy who thought he was receiving information through his television? I listened to the tapes of your hypnotic regressions for the first time at the end of that case."

He lifted both eyebrows. _I never knew you listened at all, Scully._ "Well, that case brought back all my fears and guilt, so I needed somewhere, anywhere, to go to feel secure. I couldn't talk to my parents, and I didn't know you very well then, so, I drove around aimlessly, finally stopping at some Lutheran Church, I think, with beautiful stained glass windows. I don't know how long I was there, but I felt so lost and alone."

Scully reached up to pat down an errant lock of hair, remembering Lucy Householder. "You always torture yourself every time you think you have someone like Sam."

His face darkened, their old disagreements wounding him afresh.

Scully wondered if she had offended him, so she kept stroking his hair in apology.

Understanding her concern, he gently grasped her outstretched arm, lowering it to her side, then sliding his hand past hers as he released her wrist. "Not recently. Your father showed her to me, remember? He said you'll help me find her, and I believe him."

She decided to avoid heated discourse for the present, offering her sympathy instead. "My father would have worried about you like that had he still lived, Mulder. He and Mom never argued in front of us kids, in fact, they rarely quarreled at all, that we children saw. But, you were saying?"

Before shaving, Mulder has wrestled into his black running shoes, so he opened the door, letting her out first. "Anyway, I never did the Bar Mitzvah, much to my Mom's regret. My Dad couldn't have cared less what I did, and for a long time, I would call him Jephthah behind his back."

They were descending the stairs, where she stopped him with a touch on his arm. "Never to his face?"

He grew distant, a little afraid. "Only once. Never again."

Hearing them enter the kitchen, Margaret Scully caught her daughter's eye.

Dana Scully shook her head.

Margaret sighed, leaving quietly out the back as the agents set about making their breakfast.

Mulder watched her go. "Think she'll be angry with me?"

As she dropped two English muffins into the toaster, Scully checked out the window, hearing her Mother back out of the driveway. "Mom? No. We've had our own discussions, she and I, since the Kryder case, and I've come to agree more with you than with her, Mulder. Saints and miracles only go so far, but we humans have to make the world a better place through our own actions."

"Before we destroy it completely." His eyes flashed. "Enough, Scully, we're supposed to be relaxing, not pondering infinitude."

She welcomed his sudden shift with a toss of her head. "You're right, Mulder, let the Bureau pay us to dissect and analyze the incomprehensible."

-o-0-o-

Airport  
Kingston, Jamaica  
Sunday, 9:18 am

Eric lifted Phoebe off her feet as she entered the terminal. "Sweet, you're here! Did you get him?"

They kissed passionately before she responded. "No, my Heart, we didn't. He wouldn't bite on your painting. He returned it to Max with a written apology and wished us well, mentioning a temporary cash flow problem. So, I have some time to spend with you in the sun."

They walked through the flat building, arms around each other.

Eric rubbed her shoulder. "Ah, you'll think of something else. My girl always does."

She nuzzled his neck. "Eric, I'm sorry, I'm a little nervous about meeting your family. I don't want them to think I'm too British or better than they are."

"Oh, Luv, don't worry. My Mamo will like you once she meets you, you'll see. Just be your sweet self and everything will be fine. Besides, once we're married, you're family, and they have to keep you."

They exited into the bright sunshine.

-o-0-o-

Annapolis, Maryland  
Sunday, 2:43 pm

_It's strange how we make our own rituals for this time of year._ Margaret slid the lamb back in the oven to roast, slamming the door as she did so, hoping the bang would mask the squeaking spring on the screen door. Her dear Captain had brought the recipes for this dinner back from the Theapopolis's, the family of a fellow captain in the Greek Navy he had befriended on one of his Med cruises. Every year since, she would prepare them from the stained, wrinkled cards, but for two years, Bill had not been at the head of the table to praise her efforts.

She turned to her guests. "He's in the living room with Dana. Just be careful around him. He broke a rib on his last case and it's still very tender."

-o-0-o-

Mulder shifted on the sofa, adjusting the pillows behind his back before he poked the thick stack of pages in his partner's book. "You always go for this deep reading, Scully?"

"Research, Mulder, I've been thinking..."

"I know, the grinding and clanking keeps me up at night."

She crinkled her nose at the smirk on his face. "I should learn something more about ..."

A pair of hands slid over her partner's eyes, so his own flew up to lift them away.

"Hello, Fox."

He pulled himself onto his knees to see who had walked up behind him. "Mom!" He was on his feet, practically leaping over the sofa to reach her. "Mom, you're here! How?"

They held each other, Caroline carefully dropping her arm below the padding she could feel through his shirt. "I've taken out some insurance with an old friend."

-o-0-o-

Max had remained in the kitchen, hanging back to give his wife and her son these first minutes alone together.

Margaret nodded her approval as her daughter entered the kitchen. "This is just for them, right now."

Scully extended her hand in greeting to the older man. "Hello again, Mister Lowenberg. I know we've never met formally, but Mulder pointed you out to me quickly in Mexico."

Max rose from his seat at the kitchen table as they clasped each other's palms. "Yes, Caroline has told me how close you and Fox are."

Scully shook her head. "He prefers Mulder."

Observing Margaret's nod, Max filed a mental note. "Oh? Thank you. I must confess, never having raised any children of my own, I'm approaching this with some trepidation. What else can you tell me about my stepson so I won't alienate him immediately?"

The Scully women smiled at each other, then Margaret filled a tea kettle. _This could be a while._

Scully took a chair opposite the still-handsome face. "Don't push. Let him come to you."

Joining them, Margaret stood behind Scully, placing her hands on her daughter's shoulders for a moment. "He's the most, well, troubled person I know. I think he practically raised himself as a boy, so any attempt to smother him absolutely paralyzes him."

"Caroline was very unhappy in Massachusetts herself." He shrugged. "Given the times, she felt trapped and wasn't there, mentally, for many years."

Scully leaned back to check down the hall, relieved to hear laughter coming from the living room. "After he read her letters to Mom, Mulder did a good job of convincing himself she was never coming back, you know."

Max lifted an eyebrow. "We never intended just to desert him. I'm not entirely convinced it's safe to return even now, but Caroline was ready, so we came."

As Scully opened her book to reposition the bookmark, her Mother dropped spoonsful of loose Darjeeling in a strainer. "I'm glad you did, Max." Margaret pivoted to face him. "It is all right if I call you Max?" She watched him nod. "He needs a father, and since you've never been one before, you won't have any preconceived ideas about parenting." She smiled. "Fox is like no one I have ever met, so you two should be able to work it out."

The auburn-haired pathologist leaned forward. "Just be careful around the subject of his sister, Samantha. Mulder's convinced she was abducted by aliens when he was twelve and she was eight. Or not, depending on his moods."

Max held up both hands. "Very well. Like most people, he's extremely complex, once you get to know him. I hope to have that opportunity."

Dana Scully found herself liking Caroline's second husband, wishing both men well. "Yes, I've worked with him for almost five years now, and I'm still finding new things out about him."

Max leaned over the table. "That never stops happening, you know. Thea and I celebrated thirty anniversaries together, but she could still pull the wool over my eyes whenever she wanted."

-o-0-o-

Caroline Lowenberg stroked her son's pale face. "Fox, you look so worn. I'm glad you're here with Margaret for a while."

He took her hands. "How long will you be able to stay, Mom?"

She could read the quiet longing in his eyes. "It's difficult to say, Son."

He looked down at their joined hands. "Oh."

She squeezed his fingers gently. "I've bought myself a little breathing space with some well-placed letters, but until that Ancient Chimney makes his next move ... What dear?"

His eyes were focused, laser tight. "Who?"

Caroline rose, suddenly afraid, to walk to the window. "Just someone I know that I never should have mentioned."

He stood beside her, his hunter instincts on full alert. "Mom, who is he? This Ancient Chimney?" She was retreating again, just when she was about to tell him something, but he refused to let her go. "Did he work with Dad? Does he smoke almost continuously? Mom? Does he?" He had turned her to hold both of her shoulders, keeping her from looking away.

"Yes, dear, he does."

Mulder hugged her, overcome. "Mom, he's dead. He can't hurt you anymore."

She pushed him away, seeking the truth in his eyes. "What?"

"He was murdered New Year's Eve. I have the police report and photos. Scully!" He raced to the kitchen doorway, breathless. "Scully, ..., oh." All his excitement quickly suppressed, Mulder froze, extending his hand. "Thank you, Sir."

Max walked over to shake it solemnly. "You're welcome, Mulder. She's very special to me as well."

The younger man waited, almost as if seeking a dismissal.

Max sought to ease Mulder's tension by turning to his partner. "Doctor Scully, thank you for your advice."

Scully walked over to the two men. "Yes, Mulder?"

Max thought to himself that his stepson resembled nothing, at this moment, more than a terrapin cautiously poking his head out of his shell.

"I told you, Scully."

"Told me what, Mulder?"

"My Mom knows more than she is letting on about Dad." He glanced over at his stepfather. "Sorry, Sir."

Max shook his head. "That's no problem, but please, don't call me Sir again, I'm just Max. It makes me feel like I'm a bully giving orders."

Scully watched a troop of emotions cross her partner's face, from astonishment to gratitude to relief, dissolving into pure surprise.

"Okay, Si-Max."

The two men thought, together, that this stepfather/stepson business might not be so tough after all.

Mulder focused on his partner. "She knew him, Scully."

"Oh, *him*, him, you mean." She touched his arm. "Do you think the house is still secure?"

He considered her question, Max watching his face clear as he reached a conclusion.

The younger man turned to his partner's mother. "Mrs. Scully, do you mind if we take a trip downtown for a while?"

As Caroline made her way back down the hall, Margaret walked over to join the three. "Why, no." She understood immediately that they were leaving to protect her, so she allowed herself a slight smile as her daughter took her partner aside.

"Separate cars, Mulder?"

He nodded before returning to the Lowenbergs to arrange a meeting place.

-o-0-o-

Grant's Tavern  
Annapolis, Maryland  
Sunday, 3:53 pm

They had met at this restored Colonial inn, its walls covered with flotsam and jetsam from two to three centuries earlier. A crackling fire burned in the nearly empty front room where they sat at a small wooden table in the corner, sipping hot chocolate and mulled spiced cider.

Fox Mulder sat back, astonished. His Mother had indeed worked with his Father, to an extent he never imagined, at least until the end of the war.

Once she saw the forensics photos, the stories all tumbled out, one after the other. His father, as well as several of the shadowy faces he had come to fear from the group picture taken outside the mine in West Virginia, had all been part of a deeply covert operation established at the start of the war. They had moved in and out of the Axis countries, almost with impunity, sabotaging rail lines, stealing Nazi government secrets, planting false information to aid the Allies.

"But, Mom, how could you have done all this? It was so, so dangerous and women weren't allowed to fly planes in combat then."

Caroline nodded. "I wasn't a pilot, Fox, and I am Austrian. For many of the missions I was disguised as a man." She dropped her voice as she continued. "It was easy for me then because my health was good, unlike later, after Sam, and I was needed, badly. I taught German and Italian to the others, including my Mystery Man here. Because your grandparents took us on so many trips to Germany and France, and with my good memory, I could move the group in and out of places those monsters never expected." She smiled. "It's so much easier now with the surveillance from space, that you two probably don't know how much the war effort depended on people, not machines."

Dana Scully laughed, but quickly covered her mouth to stop herself. "Mulder, when she does that, she sounds just like you."

Max nodded. "But you never found them, did you?"

Shaking her head, Caroline leaned forward to explain. "I originally agreed to go back because I wanted to find my parents, but I was never anywhere near the Camps, any of them." She tapped the photo. "I think, even then, he and your Father were answering to a group other than our own. Oh, they pretended that this was all they knew, but neither of them could hide everything all the time, but the coded messages I saw was gibberish even to me."

Scully frowned. "Mrs. Lowenberg, why did you stop? Even now I can see how much you loved it."

The white-haired woman sighed. "I had no choice, Dana. Just like all the WAC's and WAV'S, the women in our office were fired, en masse, in 1946. They had no further use for me, once the European theatre closed down, and I still didn't have my citizenship yet. No time." She closed her eyes, preparing for the inevitable next question from her son.

Mulder shifted on the chair. "Mom, did Dad ever tell you what he was doing after the war?"

Caroline gasped. _That's not what I expected._ "No, Fox, I just assumed it was covert operations against the Soviets, using the techniques we had perfected during the War. It wasn't until *you* started poking around asking questions that I began to worry about anything else. I knew not to pry at the time, as much as I was dying to know. Why, Son, what was he doing?"

Mulder looked to his partner.

Scully shrugged.

He closed his eyes to prepare himself, clasping his hands together in his lap under the linen. _They'll both hate me after this._ "Mom, he was sneaking Nazi doctors who worked in the camps out." He swallowed as he stared at the candle flickering by the carnation. "They were setting up a similar program in the US." The explosion he expected from his stepfather never came, so he raised his eyes to meet theirs, only to see that Caroline was holding her husband's hand on the table.

Max was pale as a sheet. "Do you mean my adopted country ..." He choked out. "All those faces, all that death, and they did it again over here?"

Scully nodded, her voice deep with sympathy when she answered. "Yes, Sir, and from what Mulder and I saw, the experiments continue to this day."

Caroline shot her son a look of pure disgust.

He crumpled into himself. As his chin dropped to his chest, he felt a small hand slip over his knuckles. _Thank you, Scully._ "I'm sorry, Mom. I didn't know. I thought I was chasing evidence of alien-human contact, and I may have found some, I can't be sure, but there was ... this, too." _She'll never speak to me again, I know it. I look too much like him._

The older woman rubbed her husband's back. "Would you like some fresh air, Max?"

He sighed. "No, dear, I'll be fine. I always wondered why I had so much assistance, and now I understand." He inhaled. "There's something you should know about me as well, Caroline."

The agents focused on him.

But his wife shook her head. "Max, I don't want to."

Mulder began to fidget in his chair.

The Lowenbergs immediately assumed he was in pain, both asking him about his rib.

But Scully knew her partner better than that. "Mrs. Lowenberg, what happened to Samantha?"

Mulder froze; Caroline's face turned ashen. Her voice, when she finally spoke, sounded as if it came from a deep well. "They took her, Dana. Those evil, vile creatures took her. I'm sure of that, now."

Ignoring her partner's anxious stare, Scully persisted. "*Who* took her, Mrs. Lowenberg?"

Caroline studied at the fire for a few moments before she answered. "Fox, please understand, after your Father asked me if I had a favorite, he said nothing more about it for months. I didn't realize, until it was too late, just how serious matters were. Then, one night, he demanded I come away from the house with him. When he attempted to drag me out, physically, then I knew something was wrong, because we hadn't spoken in days. I ran to Sam's room, but she was with you."

Mulder's mouth drew out into a tight line. "Mom, you weren't supposed to know about that."

Max frowned at them both.

Caroline's face lit. "Oh, Fox, I knew. You two were such angels together."

Her husband touched her arm. "What are you talking about?"

Caroline turned to him. "Samantha never slept well, unless she was with her brother. Bill didn't approve, but the poor child had such horrifying dreams. Fox was the only one she really wanted near when she woke up."

Scully stored this new information away.

Caroline reached over to grasp her son's shoulder, both of which were hunched over until they almost touched the table. "She was tucked under your arm, sleeping like a lamb when I entered your room. But these, these men were there, one standing over each of you, so I began shouting for Bill to get his gun. I could do nothing else, Fox, and they, they ... left, I think." She rubbed her temples.

Max put an arm around her shoulders. "Caroline, ..."

She patted his oversized hand, still resting on the linen. "No, Max, I'm fine. It's just so strange, after all that time, I still can't remember exactly what happened that night, just that later, I woke up in my own bed, and both of you were still asleep and safe."

"Mom, do you recall anything about these men?"

"Well, they were both quite ... large, yes, that was it, large. It was so strange, I thought at the time, that such big burly men were sent to steal a child, either of you."

Mulder frowned.

The older woman turned to her son. "You see, because I hadn't made a choice, your Father must have, but not until afterwards did I know he had chosen Sam." She paused. "I always loved you, Fox, but she was so special."

Scully could tell her partner was struggling with his grief.

Caroline looked over at Max. "I was forty-four when I had her, and it was so difficult. I couldn't get out of bed for months afterward without bleeding. Bill hired nurses to take care of us while he was away, but even after I healed, I could fall ill at the least thing. I hated that, being so weak after all I had survived." She turned back to her son. "You were both such good children; you never complained, and I know it was hard."

Mulder felt Scully grip his hand, the touch anchoring him as his sorrow overwhelmed him. _She loves me! She really does love me!_ When he could speak, his voice was deep and rough. "Mom, I never knew. You were just, never there, and Sam, Sam needed someone."

Leaning over the table, Caroline smoothed his hair. "I could never tell you, never until now, because I felt her absence every day myself. You see, she was my favorite, and you spent so much time with her, I think your Father had them take her later to spite us both."

Max was horrified. "Caroline, you can't be serious. No one could be that cruel."

Mulder nodded. "But he did, Max. He did it also to save me." Now it was Caroline's turn to look shocked. "Scully and I found records that indicated I was to have been taken rather than Sam."

Leaning away from her partner, Scully frowned, curious. "Mrs. Lowenberg, you said you saw men in the children's room, just men, no lights?"

"I think they were men, Dana, but I remember that they seemed to be more than just men, that they could change if I stared at them or looked out of the corner of my eye." She shrugged. "But I don't recall any lights."

Mulder chewed his lip, distant and thoughtful. "But if this is what you recollect, then how?"

"Did they eventually take her?" She stretched her arm towards her son, until they clasped hands. "Oh, dear, I tried to protect you two after that. Your father knew what I could do from the war, so they never came as long as one of us was with you."

Mulder frowned. "But you were next door, playing cards with the Galbraiths when she was taken."

Caroline looked stunned. "Was I? I honestly don't remember. All that seems to be in my memory is that several months later, he tried to make me leave the house. But I refused, and I think, no, I'm very sure, that your Father, no, I don't know *how* I was persuaded to leave with him that second time." She leaned back in her seat. "At first, I didn't want to leave, then I thought you two might be all right, then, we may have fought, ..." She shuddered. "I left you two to play cards with the neighbors? That would have been so silly! Are you certain, Fox?"

Max rubbed her shoulder with the arm he had kept around her. "He drugged you, didn't he?"

Understanding dawned. "Yes, dear, that must have been it. Otherwise, I couldn't have left." She dropped Mulder's hand to bring hers to her temple. "But why isn't my memory clearer? I should be able to recall the details. I can see the maps we drew up to cross from Belgium into Germany in my mind, plain as day, but I don't remember that night at all! This is so important!"

Mulder leaned over to hug her. "It's okay, Mom, we'll find out what happened to her."

-o-0-o-

Scully Home  
Annapolis, Maryland  
Sunday, 8:47 pm

Mulder sniffed the aroma of the smoke issuing from Max's pipe. "That's not ..."

Mulder and Scully had cleaned up after dinner, as at Thanksgiving. Now the auburn-haired pathologist was walking the Pomeranian while Margaret and Caroline 'caught up,' leaving the nervous agent with his stepfather on the enclosed porch.

Max smiled at the younger man. "Tobacco? Oh, dear boy, I *do* want to live another twenty years at least. No, it's a blend of clove, coriander and several other aromatic spices." His grey eyes twinkled. "It's a bad habit left over from my days as a lawyer." He turned the pipe in the air. "I never used tobacco, even then, but one always appears more erudite when gesturing with one of these, at least to clients. Now, I just use a pipe as an occasion to collect my thoughts."

Mulder rotated in the chair to face him, easing the pressure off his rib. "Max, you don't have to call me Mulder if it makes you uncomfortable. My Mom and Mrs. Scully have ..."

Max sighed. "Mulder, I'm *certainly* not using your middle name, and I know your first is *reserved*. Besides, you're not to blame for what your father did, either to his wife or his children."

The younger man stood to look out through the glass at the dark woods. "But I *am* responsible, Max. I was there and I should have saved her." He felt the older man's hand land lightly on his shoulder.

"You were a twelve year old boy, Mulder, not Sir Galahad. If they could immobilize a woman like your mother, they could stop you."

He snorted. "Yeah, I guess."

Max leaned against the window, drawing deeply on the pipe. "But you don't have to search alone, you know."

Mulder pushed his forehead against the glass. "It's my problem; Mom is too old."

They watched Scully carrying the dog, picking crumbling leaves out of his fur while fussing at him. As always, the little canine wiggled happily at the attention, ignoring the words.

Max paced the room, steeling himself to make this offer. "Mulder, please sit."

The agent walked over to ease himself down.

The white-haired senior spoke without turning. "I am not a poor man, and I had thought to leave a legacy behind me in art. But, the events of the past few days have proven to be a revelation, and I would like to help my wife find her daughter. I never knew until today, that Sam was her favorite."

Mulder grinned. "Sam was one in a million."

Now Max stood in front of Mulder. "I know you have looked among the groups of abductees for clues, but have you considered the organizations who specialize in finding persons lost through war or political kidnapping? On a certain level, this is what has happened to her, even if there were elements involved you don't completely understand. Due to my participation in the Six Day War, I have powerful friends who could help you. Have you pursued the idea that she may no longer be in this country?" He watched Mulder's eyes widen. "I thought not."

Scully stepped into the porch to smile a greeting at the two, who nodded back.

Max remembered her original advice. "Just think about it, please. We'll speak of this again tomorrow, if you like."

As he left, she took the chair next to him. "Mulder?"

He glanced quickly at her. "He wants to help me find Sam, Scully."

She leaned over to rest her hand on the arm of his chair. "Max isn't the only one, you know."

Mulder remembered Captain Scully's words: 'A friend to help you make peace with your past.' _And now I have two._

-o-0-o-

Annapolis, Maryland  
Monday, January 6, 1997  
7:45 am

"Dana?"

Scully opened her eyes at the concern in her Mother's voice. "Mom? Was I dreaming again?" She glanced around the room. "Where's Mulder?"

Margaret straightened. "That's why I was waking you, dear. He's gone."

She threw the covers back, reaching for the jeans she had draped over the foot of the bed. "When, Mom? We were talking last night, in here, about Max and he seemed to accept him. He's agreed to attend the Wedding Ceremony, as Max and his Mother asked."

Margaret followed her daughter.

Scully crossed through the bathroom to her partner's room. _Oh, Mulder!_ "He's jogging, Mom, even though he shouldn't be." She knew his habits. The rumpled sweats shoved in the bottom of the closet where his shoes had been, were all the clues she had needed. "He's worried about Miami and wants to clear his head." _Or beat himself up over something where I can't argue him out of it._

"But dear, he seemed pleased at the offer last night, and with that rib, he shouldn't be running."

Scully shrugged, knowing he would not want her to pursue him. Given all they had been through, fearing the Shadows that could still be tracking them, however, she refused to leave him alone for too long, so reentered her room to finish dressing.

Margaret recalled the previous night.

-o-0-o-

(Sunday, 9:01 pm)

"Well, Caroline, do you think we should rescue Max from Mulder before he starts arguing about the existence of extraterrestrials with him?"

His mother looked up as the front door opened and a rush of cold air entered with Scully and the Pomeranian. "Yes, they should be to one of his two favorite subjects by now."

Scully unclipped the dog, who ran between the two older women, wagging his tail when Caroline rubbed his head. "That's okay, Mom. I'll go check on them. I could see into the porch, and Mulder was wearing his Sam face. You'll be setting the cake out?"

There was one Epiphany memorial that remained. This year, the ancient concept behind their ritual resonated for Margaret more than it usually did.

Max entered the living room just after Scully left it, thoughtful.

-o-0-o-

(Sunday, 9:18 pm)

Margaret passed a slice of cake to Mulder. "Now, this isn't sweet, so I've substituted a red jelly bean for the actual bean that should be used."

Mulder accepted his piece of the torte from Margaret, admiring the black swirls as round poppy seeds spilled out onto his plate. "We won't be needing drug tests for those promotions, will we, Scully?"

The partners smiled at the thought.

Dana tore off a chunk with her fingers. There would be no more, since by tradition, the cake was cut evenly into one piece for each person that would partake. "I hope not, Mulder. This quantity of opiates will show up in those super-sensitive tests for a least a month. But for this, it's worth a few extra days of exercise."

It was Max who exclaimed next. "Hah! I must be blessed this year."

As he showed off the red ellipsoid before popping it in his mouth, his wife chuckled. "Be glad we're not pagans, dear. You would be King and we would have to obey any and all of your commands, but for tomorrow only, then, I'm afraid we could all exclaim with Alice's Queen of Hearts-"

"Off with his head!" Five voices called out the familiar line.

Margaret thrilled at the laughter in the house, but she found herself missing her absent loved ones.

Mulder was staring at the crumbs on his plate, then at the remnants of the beech log on the fire.

As she had for the entirety of their visit, his partner's mother was carefully stoking the embers. He realized she must have been keeping it alight since before their arrival on Friday.

Mulder connected the flames in his vision with the fire on the hearth. "Actually, paganism has much to recommend itself." He shrugged. "It works as well as any other religion, sometimes."

Max lifted his wine glass, sipping his mulled cider quietly as he considered his next words. "Very well, Mulder, then I shall claim my ancient privileges as King of the Bean, and demand that all of you accompany Caroline and myself to Miami for a week." He took his wife's hand. "I've asked Rabbi Meyer to marry us properly at my Temple before this next Sabbath, and we would both love it if you three could be there." He studied their faces, seeing the pleasure his words brought to Margaret, but only trepidation to the agents. "If you can, that is. I certainly don't want to lose my head."

Mulder glanced at his partner's face, remembering his thoughts as he sat on her bed Midwinter's morning, then leaned forward. _This would do._

-o-0-o-

Annapolis, Maryland  
Monday, 8:07 am

Scully's words brought her mother out of her reverie. "Did Mister Red Fuzz wake you earlier?"

"Around six fifteen, dear. Why, you don't think he's been gone that long, do you?"

Dana shrugged. "Mom, with Mulder, it's hard to say. He may be running his heart out, or he may have found a quiet place to think. Let me have a moment, and I'll go look for him. How is Mrs. Lowenberg taking this?"

"She's almost as worried as you are, Dana, in fact, it's all Max can do to keep her from looking herself. She keeps talking about having broken some oath she took. What on earth happened to that family, dear? Or can't you tell me again?"

As she closed the bathroom door, Scully shook her head.

-o-0-o-

Annapolis, Maryland  
Monday, 8:32 am

Mulder staggered over to a chestnut tree that the cinder path branched around to rest his back against it. _Hurt enough yet, Mulder?_ He had awakened in the night, restless, leaving to work his worries out in the cold. But he felt each step jarring his side, so the exercise had turned into self-flagellation. The light was beginning to creep onto the shaded jogging trail. As he looked around, Mulder realized he had no idea where he was, other than that the path paralleled a four lane road.

_Great, they've probably called out the State Troopers by now. When will you ever do anything right?_ He should have awakened his partner, or left a note, but he had ground himself into a state of disgust at his weaknesses. _I should be out looking for my sister, not comfortably sleeping in an antique bed and anticipating a better office and assistance for my efforts._ When he drew a deep breath, the cold dry air set him coughing. _It's right that Sam is Mom's favorite, not me. I couldn't save her then, and I can't find her now. I don't understand how she can bear to touch me, after she learned what Dad did._

_Max had been in the Six Day War!_ He took a few steps, then accelerated into a trot, attempting to settle into the rhythm that dulled his fears. _It was so much easier when there were hero__e__s and villains, but now everything was shades of grey. Or was it ever easier?_ His father had been a hero once, during the War when he had worked side by side with the Viennese woman he would eventually marry, but he had been a villain, a spy, at the same time.

"Mulder!"

He stopped, finding he was relieved that Scully had tracked him down. _Perhaps she will be furious with me, and chew me out as royally as I deserve._ When she walked over, one glance at her face told him it was worse than he thought; she was worried, not angry, taking his arm to pull it around her shoulders. _Do I look that bad?_

"Let's get you back inside, before you come down with pneumonia or something terrible that will keep me from a week in the sun."

_She's joking with me. I'm about to be coddled to death._ He was pushed in the car before he could protest.

She climbed behind the wheel. "Mulder, I don't think I need to remind you about your rib. It looks like you've given yourself quite enough of a beating for one day."

Gasping on the passenger side, Mulder settled into the seat. "Scully, I just needed to think."

She regarded him carefully, flipping from Doctor mode to partner mode, before settling firmly in the frame of mind he was appreciating more with each week, the friend and confidante he needed. "I know, but your Mother was worried, and given the blows to your thick skull, so was I." She turned the engine over. "With your injuries, most men would be incapacitated, but I know you, Mulder, you recover faster if you can be active. I'm glad you've agreed to come to Miami. Do you think you'll be all right with the Temple service?"

He studied his hands as they drove along. "I really can't say, Scully."

-o-0-o-

Miami, Florida  
Tuesday, January 7, 1997  
10:38 am

"I haven't been in a house with so much light in years." Caroline Lowenberg was escorting her guests around her husband's spacious home.

It was by no means a mansion, in the sense that the Palazzo De Medici had been. But, for three Northerners like Margaret and Dana Scully, and Caroline's son, used as they were to the small rooms of a Victorian home that had to insulate against the cold, the floor to ceiling windows and skylights were stunning. Caroline had shown Margaret and Dana their bedrooms sharing a walk-out deck, but now the four of them stood in front of a closed white door.

Dana Scully caught the slight twitch of her lips before Caroline spoke, realizing again which parent her partner inherited many of his quirks from.

The white-haired woman opened the door with a flourish. "And Fox, this is your room." The space contained neither a bed nor a dresser, but was the entertainment center for the home. In front of a long white sofa with deep cushions was a projection television with surround sound, along the walls were shelves containing Max's video and laser disc collection. Caroline and Dana smirked as they followed Mulder into the room. Margaret brought up the rear, the Pomeranian tucked under her arm.

Giddy with delight, Mulder was checking the films. "Hey, Scully, check this out! "The Fly" in CAV!"

Chuckling, Caroline took her husband's arm as he entered the room. "Fox, I think you'll find you and Max share many common interests."

The white head nodded. "I have two extra Fiats in the garage, so no one needs to feel stranded here. The keys are on the hooks by the garage door, in case you need them."

Margaret was astonished. "Max, but you were by yourself for so long! Why did you keep up such a large place?"

He smiled. "Before Thea passed on, members of the Firm would come down and vacation with us, so it was convenient to have the extra rooms and cars. After Thea, well ..." He grew reflective. "It was easier to keep than to sell. Now it's something of a blessing, since I can share my hospitality with all of you."

Margaret and Dana nodded to each other, then the older woman spoke. "Thank you, Max, Dana and I have always wanted to visit the Boardwalk."

After leaving the dog in Margaret's room, Max escorted them to the garage. "Now, you two be careful to do the speed limit exactly for a mile or so to either side. The speeding fines are far too high in this city."

They nodded as they slid into one of the automobiles.

Max waved them off, heading for his bedroom to call the Jenkins, now that they were all safe. He had much to tell Benjamin. Besides, he wanted to give Caroline and Fox some private time.

-o-0-o-

"Fox, dear?" Caroline placed a hand on her son's arm as he surveyed the collection.

He glanced down at her. "Mom?"

She tugged him gently to the sofa, where they sat together. "I'm glad we could spend this time with each other, Fox. I've never had the chance to tell you how proud I am of you, with all you've done over the years."

He stared down at his interlaced fingers, red from pressing into his knuckles. "I haven't found her, Mom. Sam's still out there somewhere and I haven't found her yet."

Caroline disentangled one of his hands, holding it tightly between hers. "You will, Fox. Your Father made them promise not to hurt her, ever. They told us she'll lead a normal, happy life, but just not remember what happened when she was eight or younger."

He found his shoulders shaking as he fought to keep his voice steady. "Why didn't you tell me this after the Samantha clone came back, or right after Dad died? Why did you let me think it was aliens all this time?"

Caroline's face clouded. "Your Father only told me she was safe and happy just before he died. The men who did this are gone now, Fox. They can't kill you for knowing, which they would have last year."

He whispered. "I wouldn't want to live, Mom."

Caroline shook her head. "Never say that, Fox. I did for many, many years, and I missed out on most of your life because of it. As for the aliens, well, dear, I don't know what to say." She regarded his for a long pause. "Son?"

He lifted his eyes to hers.

"I think you are right about them though." She watched his face snap into focus.

He began to rise, needing to pace to relieve his tension, but she held his hand firmly. "What?"

"Now, Son, please, never repeat what I'm about to tell you."

He leaned forward.

"When you were running after those papers of yours, I went to *him* and begged for your life. He said the human race must be ready for some new invader, worse than the Soviets. I think he was talking about aliens, but he never said explicitly. He promised not to kill you if I never told you, but he's dead now, so I can." She paused, breathing deeply to keep give herself time to check her emotions. "Oh, Fox, you were always such a good child. It was never your fault, and I hated not being able to tell you that, but Bill said that was the way it had to be." Caroline's reserves broke down.

Mother and Son held each other, weeping.

-o-0-o-

Kingston, Jamaica  
Thursday, January 9, 1997  
2:01 pm

As the Spanish moss swayed in the breeze, Phoebe and Eric stood before his assembled friends and relatives in the family's live oak grove. The minister was reading the benediction for their union.

Eric caught his Mother's disapproving glare out of the corner of his eye as he turned to kiss his wife. _Oh, Mamo, she's tried so hard to please you, love her for me, your only son._ He felt his wife's arm tighten around his shoulders.

Phoebe had been wary since her arrival. She wanted to please her future mother-in-law, certainly, but she was concerned about the abrupt end to their sting operation. For the past three days, she thought she had caught glimpses of figures hiding in the shadows, so she expected further unpleasantness.

Now, looking over her shoulder, Phoebe caught a glint of light reflecting off metal. She reacted instinctively, tripping Eric to throw him to the ground, where he struck his head on one of the paving stones in the pathway. "Everyone down!" Phoebe reached for her weapon, then froze. _It's your wedding day, girl, and you left it in your room._ She heard an explosion, then the line where the brilliant blue of the sky met the lush green of the mountains began to blur.

-o-0-o-

Temple Hillel  
Miami, Florida  
Thursday, 6:30 pm

Caroline Lowenberg and her husband stood in the front of the airy building, Rabbi Meyer speaking over them. They had reached the end of the Wedding Ceremony, one in which she had become unwilling to ask her increasingly agitated son to take any significant part. When she heard the crisp crack of glass, wrapped in linen, she scanned for a glimpse of his dark hair, which should have been obvious among the grey heads behind them. As she had feared, her only child was nowhere in sight.

Caroline could see Dana Scully's auburn hair bobbing as she leaned first to the left, then to the right, searching for him from her seat by her Mother.

Finally, the agent rotated to sit facing the front, wearing a look of relief. She had spotted her partner in the back, slumped down on one far corner seat. _Mulder, I've never been in such an open-minded place; it can't be that bad._

Scully leaned forward one more time, observing another familiar head. _It's him._ The elegant white hair looked slightly ragged for once. She wondered if he was on the run as the Smoking Man had been, whether there were assassins in the building with them. As soon as the service finished, she would make her way back to her partner to warn him, if she could reach him in his present mental state.

-o-0-o-

Lowenberg Home  
Miami, Florida  
Thursday, 8:37 pm

The celebration on the Lowenberg grounds was in full swing. Scattered in small groups throughout the gardens and fountains were most of the members of the Temple, as well as a few old associates and partners from Max's Firm. Scully had realized, to her dismay, that she and her Mother were the only friends Mulder and his Mother had at the festivities.

Max was dancing with Dana Scully after several turns with Caroline and Margaret. The white-haired man felt he must retire a debt of gratitude to the slight woman in his arms. "I'd like to thank you for your help with Mulder."

She smiled up at her partner's gracious stepfather. "Just be good to him, Mister Lowenberg. He comes around eventually if he feels safe. It took more than three years for us to be this comfortable around each other, but I still expect him to run off at a moment's notice."

Max nodded to Benjamin Jenkins and Caroline as they passed them. "He's like many of the Camp survivors, and very much like his Uncle Isaac, all so easily, well, spooked, that one ends up on tiptoe around them half the time. They'll never really recover from their traumas."

She nodded, spotting her partner pacing the edge of the dance area, warily keeping as much distance as he could between himself and Miriam Jenkins, who was tracking him persistently, another young woman in tow.

Max followed her gaze. "You haven't had a chance to tell him about my old friend?"

She shook her head. "He's been so wired since the Temple service I've let him alone, since usually that's the wisest course until he's ready to hear something."

When the music ended, Max offered Scully his arm, guiding her to intercept Mulder.

Scully's gaze turned upward. "Although he's been better of late, I don't push him when he's in certain moods."

Max understood many things about his stepson's partner and their close friendship that eluded even his observant wife. He admired this sensible young woman, who had chosen a short-sleeved, burgundy shirtdress with a full-length circle skirt for this reception, not some low-cut, form-fitting gown.

He leaned down to speak with her. "Leopards don't change their spots. But, Dana, he may listen to you long enough to escape Miriam, since that's the third girl from Temple she's chased him with. As far as my old associate, well, I'm calling the police, just in case; I still have a few friends on the Force who can be discreet."

She squeezed his arm as they approached Mulder together.

"Scully!" He hurried over to them, bending down to whisper to his red-haired partner, just as Max had. "Save me, Scully, that woman's driving me insane."

Her hands on her hips, she stood back, wondering what price she could extract for her act of mercy. _This would be fun._ "Oh, Mulder, I don't know, you look delicious in that tux you borrowed from Mister Lowenberg. I don't see how those poor deprived things can resist you."

He stared down at her, totally confounded by her reluctance, before he grabbed her arm, still whispering. "Scully! Don't you understand? I'm being pursued here!" He gritted his teeth. "Help me!"

The frustration in his quiet growl was almost too much for even her self-control, but Max winked at her over his shoulder as he left, so she found a little more resolve. _He's too desperate even to flirt about this._

"Well, Mulder, you know what the Bureau would say."

"Scul-ly! We're at a wedding. I'm dying here!" He took her hand as the music began to steer her deliberately to the center of the crowd, where he tucked her up against him.

_You'll pay, Dana, but that was worth it._ As they swayed and rotated slowly, Scully settled under his arm as she had under his tall stepfather's, reflecting on how strange she felt. She had not attended many social functions in high school or college, concentrating on her studies instead. This enforced closeness, hemmed in by others, seemed otherworldly, so unlike their frequent brief physical contacts.

_It must be more enchanting when Romance is involved._ But, despite the depth of her interdependent bond with Mulder, the range of emotions he evoked in her, from rage to frustration to sympathy to deep concern to genuine affection, the venereal ones were simply not among them. _Should I just come out and *tell* him about the man I saw?_

Fox Mulder flattened his hand against his partner's back, calming his nerves. Miriam Jenkins was on the other side of the dance floor, wearing a look of resigned defeat, so he was safe from her wiles. _What was Scully's problem?_ Then he understood. His friend and partner was teasing him, sparring playfully as they usually did in a moment of security.

He looked down at her head, resting just below his shoulder. They'd come so far in their years together, past the uneasy working alliance, past the moment of absolute trust, to this deep friendship that had sustained him when he thought his mother was lost. He owed her his life and sanity many times over. He knew he would again, before they found Sam and the truth behind those aliens he and his mother had suspicions about, as well as the strange cases they investigated. _They!_ It felt good to realize it was a they and not a he. _You're not a lone wolf anymore, Mulder._

Feeling his shoulders relax, Scully glanced up at him, knowing that she could tell him, finally. "Mulder?"

"Hum?"

"We have a problem." She stepped back, stood still, then took his arm to begin threading their way through the swaying couples to the edge of the crowd. Once they reached a circular tile fountain in the back of the house she turned, tugging his shoulder to bring his head down where she could whisper her observations to him.

Mulder stepped up on the fountain to survey the crowd. "What? He's here, Scully? Where?" Max Lowenberg was, indeed, not a poor man, and the home he and Thea had shared overlooked the Atlantic Ocean. But, the Spanish style house with its red fluted tiles and stucco walls belonged to Max and Caroline now, from the curved driveway to the huge pool surrounded by a slate deck.

"Looking for someone, young man?"

They spun around.

His linen collar was frayed slightly, the hair askew. "Oh, they will find me, never fear. It's only a matter of time in this business, so it's best to spend your money while you can, because no one retires from the Committee."

_He *had* been on the run._ Scully thought to herself.

The old man turned to the auburn-haired pathologist. "The Committee has suffered a coup, you see. It has happened before in its long history, and it will happen again. You would be well advised to take care of each other now. They are much more ruthless than we ever were, and capricious as well. We, at least, did nothing without a good reason."

Mulder stepped off the tiles onto the grass. "Who's after you? More old men?"

"Actually, they are closer to your age, and you were even at the FBI Academy with some of them, Mister Mulder. Did my Washington Associate not tell you?" He watched the partners' faces blanch. "Obviously not. That's too bad, because he knew most of them better than I did. I'm only here to pay my respects to two old friends, while I still can." He turned, facing the couple who were both the hosts and objects of this celebration, then paused, not looking back. "Lay your fears to rest about your stepfather, Mister Mulder; he's as honest a fellow as you'll ever find. Lord knows, I could never tempt him with money or power." He waved his hand at the house. "He earned all this through his own hard work."

As Mulder looked down at his partner, she raised an eyebrow at him. They slipped into the crowd, checking for suspicious behavior in any of the guests, Scully keeping within earshot of the white-haired man, hearing him greet Caroline and Max.

Mulder circled the grounds. _There, in the palmettos._ After catching a glimpse of a black steel rod, the agent crept up behind the crouching figure. "Federal Agent! Hands in the air!"

The dark shape spun, firing his rifle to cover his escape.

But Mulder was quicker, leaping on his back, shoving the gun away. As the two wrestled on the ground, Mulder heard running feet. _Please, let it be Scully._

"Okay, Mulder, you've messed with the Group for the last time. The old guys would never give you what you deserved, but we will." After he was wrenched upright, he felt cold metal on his neck. Mulder heard a weapon cock, then the explosion, but he felt nothing until he found himself remembering that the brain had no pain receptors. Then a body fell, the other black shape sprang away.

"Mulder! You okay?"

He reached up to touch his neck, expecting blood, but feeling nothing but unbroken skin, then his partner's small fingers probing the same area.

"You're all right, you know."

He looked down at the man who had threatened him, dropping one hand to his partner's shoulder.

Scully pointed the assassin's rifle at the ground, shrugging. "It was the only gun I could find. We should throw something over the body before the guests reach us."

"He's probably gone by now, isn't he?"

"Well, he may live for another few days, but he's right. We will have to be more careful in the future." Scully looked up at him.

They turned when they heard footsteps.

Mulder's stepfather joined them. "I've told the others to wait. What happened here, Mulder?" Max parted the spiky branches, nodded, and faced them. "I expected as much when Dana told me he had appeared. Are you both all right?"

Walking towards the house, Scully waved a hand.

Mulder replied. "Yes, we are. I'm sorry, Max, I mean, about everything."

The older man grasped his shoulder, wanting to heal this non-existent breach his stepson felt. "There's nothing for you to be sorry about, Mulder. I've already told you, you're not responsible for your Father, and you must stop blaming yourself." He took Mulder by both shoulders. "I saw much that was evil and horrible in the Camp, but I also saw acts of incredible kindness and heroism. I've kept my sanity by thinking about those, and striving to bring some good out of all that evil. Take my advice, and do the same."

The younger man stared at his feet. "You should take my Mom away from here, you know. She's probably the only one left who knows what went on back then."

They parted when Scully returned.

She shook out the white muslin over the body. "The police are already here, Mister Lowenberg. An off-duty Captain was knocking on the door when I entered."

"Good, if it's Jerry, he'll be able to keep this quiet. I presume that's the way you two want it?"

The agents nodded.

-o-0-o-

As he stood on the beach, the old man lit another cigarette. It felt odd to be out of the grey suit, but one had to blend in to survive. He had come to pay his respects, not as his old colleague was, in an obvious manner that would get him killed, but the only way he could, now that he was dead.

_Not really dead, you old devil._ The police report and photos had been incredibly easy to fake; the officers the Committee still owned had been more than willing to do him one final favor. He snorted.

_Those young punks with their dependence on technology were so easy to fool._ He had used the well-timed appearance at Mulder's apartment and the surgically altered body of the vagrant to complete the ruse. _Well, best to not stay here too long. Be happy, Caroline, you deserve it. I never wanted to put Luther on your tail, but orders were orders._ He shrugged. _No orders anymore._

When he learned she was still alive, he released her from their pact, in his own mind, at least. He also understood the members of the new Group better than the other old men, so hoped to be able to rein them in once Caroline's son charged after them, as he knew he eventually would.

-o-0-o-

Hospital  
Kingston, Jamaica  
Thursday, 9:37 pm

"Mamo, are you here?" Eric opened his eyes, wincing at the bright light. His mother shushed him, but he persisted. "Where's Phoebe?" Her silent face frightened him. "Don't tell me, please, Mamo?"

She shook her head, then pulled aside the curtain separating him from the next patient. Phoebe lay on the bed, a respirator tube down her throat.

Eric swayed as he sat up. "What happened, Mamo?"

"They were assassins, dearo. Your girl pushed you to the ground and stood over you like a tigress until one of them shot her in the back."

He padded to her bed, touching her face. "Mamo, will she live?"

The old woman nodded. "It was hard to tell that night. The doctors kept fighting for her life, but she's out of danger now." She took her son's hand. "You have a concussion, Eric, you should rest now."

He dropped it to clutch his wife's instead. "Mamo, you said in the back. Is she?"

His Mother shrugged. "It's fifty-fifty, Eric, only the next week or so will tell."

"Did they catch the men who did this?"

"Yes, but they were bailed out almost immediately upon their arrest. They've vanished, Eric." His Mother stroked Phoebe's forehead. "I've looked into her soul, dearo, and I think I like what I see there."

-o-0-o-

Miami Beach  
Saturday, January 11, 1997  
10:45 am

"Hey, babe, you waiting for someone?"

Dana Scully ignored the intrusion, having repaired to the public portions of the beach to catch some sun without her partner, his family, or her Mother. The Lowenbergs had left for their other home in Santorini late last night, after Max had convinced his wife it was still unsafe for either of them to remain in America for any length of time.

Mulder had concurred, reluctantly, releasing her after promises to keep in touch via phone or E-mail, whichever was easier for them. Following their departure, he had awakened into one of his introspective moods. Scully had found him sitting by the pool this morning. At least he knew he had not been abandoned, since Max had extended a standing invitation for any of them to visit the ruins on the island whenever they had the free time.

Margaret was beginning to drive Scully crazy. She had been dropping hints about her partner since New Year's. Finally, early this morning, she forcefully brought the subject up to her daughter.

-o-0-o-

"Dana, you must have some feelings for him. You spend nearly all your free time together."

Scully lifted the Pomeranian out of a canvas bag, filling it with lotion and a beach towel Mulder had purchased at the airport, before the little dog could wedge himself in again. The image on the towel of a neon orange dolphin, grinning and leaping towards a departing turquoise rocket, had been too much for him to resist.

"Yes, Mom, I do. But it's not what you think." She sighed. "You see, Mulder's a good friend and all, but, we're *partners*. He needs other friends too, and I'm hoping that by finding his Mom as approachable as she is now, he won't be so dependent on you and me. We're to the stage where we're extremely comfortable with each other, and it's nice to have someone like him around, but..."

"Well, dear, I'm happy to hear you're so comfortable with each other, and he's nice to be around. Now that your career is going so well, why not work a little on your personal life?"

Scully shook her head, refusing to let her Mother irritate her. _Because he's a nut._ "With Mulder? Mom, the Bureau's an old boy's club. A woman who sleeps with her partner gets called all sorts of things I won't repeat to you, and has absolutely zero chance of career advancement."

Margaret waved her hand at the objection. "Oh, dear, it's the Nineties. Office romances are nothing new."

Scully frowned. "Mo-om, this is the FBI, not some radio station in Cincinnati." _That used to work._ She slung the bag over her shoulder.

But her Mother would not defer the conversation to some later date. _After one of you is gone, Dana?_ "Is there something the matter with Fox?"

Scully dropped her shoulders, taking several deep breaths before she turned to respond. _What a question, Mom. Samantha, his Father, his Mother (well, not anymore), Melissa, the insomnia, and parts of the paranoia are all 'the matter with' Mulder._ "Mom, you're reading this all wrong. A law enforcement partnership is different from a regular working relationship. We have to be close so we can function as one when the situation calls for it, but not so close that we can't operate independently when we need to. I really can't tell you everything; we may have to disappear at any moment because of what we know."

Margaret touched her daughter's hair, not focusing on her words. "Then is it you, dear, because of what your body has been through? Aren't you interested in men at all?"

Scully rolled her eyes. "No! Of course I'm interested in men, and if the situation were right, well..." She shrugged. "It might even be right with Mulder, one day, but not now. Can't you see?" _No, she can't. She can't understand. It would upset her too much to know about the Shadows and the assassins._

Margaret sighed. "No, dear, I really don't. Fox thinks..."

Scully's lower jaw jutted. "I'm taking a walk, Mom. Please, don't bring any of this up with him. He has enough to deal with on his own, without someone he respects and admires, like yourself, adding to his problems."

As she left, Margaret shook her head, wondering if her daughter would ever find the happiness she had known with Bill Scully. She watched through the window as Dana stopped to touch her partner's shoulder, then he reached up idly to cover her hand with his.

-o-0-o-

"More pushing, Scully?"

She looked down. "How did you know?"

He squinted up at her. "It's your 'I have to leave before I kill' expression that's a dead giveaway. You've worn it often enough when walking away from me after one of our arguments, and you and your Mom disagree about one thing only, or so it seems." He sighed. "I can't help but be flattered that she thinks so highly of me, but if she's made you this angry, then enough is enough. I guess I can't ask you if you want some company on the beach."

"Oh, you're not so down?"

He nodded. "I'm not all alone, and I like it, although it will take some getting used to. Max and my Mom want to be available, but not so close that they're in my face." He winced as he shifted on the lounge. "It will be good to get to know my Mom, since I never knew her, really, or my Dad. Maybe when I bring Sam back we can almost be a family." He dropped his hand from hers as her eyes drifted down to his side, the bulge of cotton obvious under the wet spot on the T-shirt.

She pointedly ignored the row of three enlarged grey heads, one covering its catlike eyes, one his hidden ears, and the third a slit of a mouth. "How does it feel today?"

"Better. I tried swimming this morning, but the muscles pulled too much." The quicksilver flashed. "I'll have to avoid more of the James Bond thing until this heals."

She raised one eyebrow. "What, the wrestling with dangerous assassins on the lavish estate, or the bedding of the luscious blonde alien after you're done?"

Grinning, Mulder rose to stand over her. "I'll never tell. Go knock'em dead, G-woman."

-o-0-o-

And that, apparently, was what had happened. The obnoxious buzzing refused to be silent, so Scully opened one eye. _Well, this was a pleasant surprise._ The voice belonged to a well-developed man with red curls. He had twin depressions on either side of his nose, so she knew he wore glasses for most or all of the day. They chatted for a few minutes, discovering that he too, was from the DC area.

"Oh, FBI Agent?" He tapped his chest. "Senatorial Aide. We have the next two weeks off, so I thought, hey, why not. We'll be working hard enough when we get back. Justice Committee, you know."

"Who's the Senator?"

The red curls danced in the sun. "Randall, the new Republican from Texas. We have some major operations to dismantle this term." He shrugged. "Maybe we'll come do an inspection of the Hoover Building sometime. Where are you?"

Scully chuckled. "Oh, nowhere you'll see on a tour, that's for sure. We're stuck in the basement for now." _No reason to tip your hand, Dana._

"You say you're here with your Mom?"

She nodded.

"Think you could slip out for a drink or something tonight?"

She studied him. _A drink? An actual social event? You are knocking'em dead. Maybe this would stifle her Mother about Mulder._

"Sure. Where should I meet you?"

"How about right here, say around six?"

"Great. Six it is." She stood up, shaking out the towel, making sure she was downwind of ... Doug. _You'll have to be more enthusiastic than that, Dana._

-o-0-o-

Saturday, 5:31 pm

"But Scully, what do you know about this guy? After everything we've been through, you can't just go around with strange men at all hours of the night. You heard what *he* said yesterday."

She pinned her hair up, catching her partner's peeved expression over her shoulder in the mirror. _I don't look so bad, I guess._ She had packed a saffron-colored sleeveless silk blouse and a mid-calf scarlet cotton skirt in case she had to dress more formally than shorts or less formally than the Service and Reception had been.

He crossed his arms. "Scully, are you hearing any of this?"

She studied him, lounging in his T-shirt and shorts. _Lucky Mulder. A white button-down shirt and one of his tamer ties cover most contingencies._ Her skin was faintly pink, which was better than deathly winter white, and her leather sandals would pass for appropriate footwear this evening. She regarded her reflection one final time, then shrugged. _Good as it gets, Dana._

"Scully?" He had slipped from petulance to genuine concern.

"It's just a drink." She walked over to the bed to bend down into his face, holding out a slip of paper. "Mulder, take this card he gave me and check him out with the Gunmen if you like. Max's machine is in his room, and it's running '95, just like at work. If you find anything on him that makes you the least uncomfortable, call me, okay?"

He nodded, swallowing as he stood.

She straightened, slipping her cell phone in her handbag. _Purses. I hate these things, but the skirt has no pockets._ "If you must know, I'd rather be spending the evening with you and Mom, but she won't quit on a certain subject. I hope that by doing this, she'll understand that we aren't ..."

He sighed. "Okay, I'll do that." He stepped back to offer her the door first.

She paused, brushing his chest with her shoulder, then smiled up at him. "Wait up for me?"

He was wearing one of his unfathomable looks. His voice, when he replied, was deeper than normal. "You'll have to leap over the furrow I'll track in the carpet when you come home. Before midnight, right, Scully?"

She nodded. "It should be well before midnight, Mulder. One of the good things about vacationing with people at least twice my age is that I'm finally catching up on all the sleep I've missed over the past two months. I'd like to keep this unbroken string of eight hours a night going."

-o-0-o-

Saturday, 7:31 pm

"You are a sorry specimen of the male animal, Mulder."

He frowned at his reflection in the mirror as he spoke on the phone in Max's bedroom. "Frohike, she's my partner and more than capable of taking care of herself, as you well know."

"Exactly, so why are you having us run the records on this guy?"

"I have a bad feeling about this, that's all. So, what did you find?"

"Well, Captain Solo, you might want to prepare to eat crow, since he looks to be squeaky clean. Straight out of Economics from UT at Austin, Phi Beta Kappa, Baptist preacher for a Father."

"Ooh, now I'm worried, Frohike. Those Baptist preacher's kids can be wild men, or so I've heard. I'd better get the bail money ready."

"What, for you?"

He growled. "No, for Scully. After she drop-kicks him into the Atlantic, I'll have to spring her before Daddy shows up and damns her to Hell for eternity." He heard mumbling in the background. "What?"

The next voice was Langly's. "Bad news, G-man. He's not what we initially thought he is; oh, the life story's right, but he's also one of these right-wing militia dudes on the weekends. Byers just cross-referenced the face from the driver's license to our database on fringe types and he has some real shadowy connections we've tracked through the years. Seems this Randall character he works for is one of theirs, not one of yours. You can reach her?"

"Thanks, guys." Mulder hung up the phone, running for the stairs.

-o-0-o-

Club Key Largo  
Miami, Florida  
Saturday, 7:37 pm

"Excuse me, I need to answer this call." Dana Scully finished her mineral water, then slipped away from the table, taking the phone and conversation into the women's room. "Scully."

"Scully, it's me. I'm on my way to the car. Where are you?"

"Club Key Largo. It's on Rickenbaker, about a mile north of the house. What's up?" _Mulder, if this is some excuse..._

"Your Celt isn't all sweetness and light. The Gunmen have connected him to fringe groups that might have been involved in Oklahoma City. Also, that Senator Randall is a real troublemaker. When I heard Langly say his name, I remembered Skinner and Matheson had their heads together about him."

"You had a bad feeling about this, right? Oh!"

"Scully? Scully? You there?" Having heard the phone clatter to the floor, then the call terminate, he floored the gas pedal as his heart raced.

-o-0-o-

Doug McConnell glanced down at the unconscious woman in the seat beside him. Having 'Ace' stationed in that bathroom made this almost too easy. _I knew who you were all along, Dana Scully, and exactly what threat you pose to the Group. I just didn't think it would be this easy to get you exactly where we want you. Your 'Ice Queen' reputation must be larger than life; I thought I would actually have to continue to pursue you back in DC. Now we just wait for your partner to roar out of the woodwork, and ..._ He checked his rear-view mirror. _A silver Fiat, now that's a twist. The Group will have to rethink some of its strategies._ Slowing just enough for the other automobile to catch up, he moved into the right-most lane.

They proceeded down the highway for several miles, bumper to bumper, so Mulder smelled a trap. As the cars thinned, he noticed a second, then a third vehicle joining the group, but lagging back a length or two, sometimes allowing a car to slip in between them briefly. They were being set up for a drive-by shooting, one that would pass unnoticed in Miami, perhaps with a small obituary in the Herald and the Post in DC. He began scanning the surroundings, looking for a way to even the odds.

As Dana Scully's eyelids fluttered, Doug considered another blow to the head, but they remained closed. For this to work, they needed a limp body that Mulder would have to stop to drag into his car. But she was as motionless as when he carried her out of the bar, apologizing to the Concierge for his drunken date as he held the door. The prearranged intersection looming ahead, Doug opened the door with the button in the driver's side controls, then shoved the red-haired woman out, watching her roll across the ground until she was fifteen feet from the edge of the road. As expected, the Fiat pulled alongside, then in the rear-view mirror, he watched the dark head disappear.

"Scully!" Mulder reached for the driver's side door, but he heard a click as the passenger door latch was released.

"Mulder, move! It's a set-up!" His partner was crawling into the car.

When she was mostly inside, he grabbed her under the arm before he took off, just as the other cars reached his bumper. Scully twisted around to slam her door shut, shouting the location of the closest speed trap. Accelerating as he turned at a cross alley, he nodded, so within minutes, they heard the wail of a police siren. At the sound, the other vehicles turned off, breaking to the left and right. Digging in his pockets, Mulder pulled out his FBI ID as the car slowed to a stop. He winced at the fresh scrapes he saw on her arms and legs as a uniformed officer tapped on the window.

-o-0-o-

Third Precinct Station  
Miami, Florida  
Saturday, 8:57 pm

Scully held herself still on the wobbly pine chair, one hand locked around a split up the front left leg. "Look, Sergeant Simmons, we appreciate your efforts on our behalf, but you'll never catch these guys. They'll skitter back into the darkness and make another attempt when we're in DC or on a case."

The slender African-American lifted his hands from the keyboard to lean back. "Agent Scully, you were almost killed out there." He waved his hand in the air. "Besides, this guy is a member of a white supremacist militia group we've been tracking for months now. Agent Mulder's information is the best evidence we have to date. Are you sure you don't want to press charges when we grab him?"

As Scully slid the chair against the side of the desk for support, she glanced over at her partner, who had moved to an unoccupied desk where he could phone her Mother in privacy. She had heard him whispering heatedly, but now he was nodding in silence.

She rubbed her wrist, hoping it was just a sprain. "No, there really is more to this than you should know." She looped her hair behind her ear, having lost the pins sometime during the evening's events.

Mulder rejoined them.

She could read his frustration in the twist of his lips as she continued. "I think we should go. Don't get sidetracked by what happened here. If you can ever come up with anything else, let us know; we want these guys out of circulation as well."

Her partner wrote their numbers on the police report. "Use this one for the Bureau, and if you want to contact us after hours, there are our cell phones. You finished here, Scully?"

At her nod, they both shook the officer's hand before leaving.

-o-0-o-

"We need to talk." The noises of the city stilled as he touched the window controls.

She rubbed her left shoulder as she rotated her arm, checking the damage. "You're concerned about the D'Amato documents?"

Mulder nodded. "They're our best insurance, now that the Shadow governments are sparring with each other, but Max had a good thought when we were discussing Samantha. I think we should move the notebooks out of the country, Scully. If this new group of Shadows would try a stunt like this, then they would think nothing of staging waves of bank robberies to pull them out if they wanted them."

"And I'm afraid, Mulder, that our friends in the Senate aren't as powerful as they lead us to believe, if Randall and his aides are on the other side. Right now, the only records of the locations of the notebooks are in both of our heads, and encrypted on my laptop. We'll have to move them stealthily to where, Switzerland?"

He shrugged. "Yeah, probably." He touched her hand, carefully avoiding a bruise. "You want to stop by a hospital?"

She shook her head. "The road rash? I've had worse when I was learning to blade."

He lifted an eyebrow.

"Maybe not, but outside of my wrist, the rest is minor. I'd like a long soak though, to work out these aches." She shifted in the seat as she reclined the back, deep in thought.

-o-0-o-

Mulder checked over his shoulder when he heard Scully walk up behind him. "Feeling better?"

Nodding, Scully settled in the cushions of the leather sofa, turning over the left hems-length of her shorts twice to move the material away from the cuts. She had been stiff enough from the tumbling and rolling that she had willingly let Mulder support her when they returned to the house, resting her shoulder against him, his arm wrapped tightly around her waist.

Margaret had met them at the door, walking behind until they reached the bathroom, where she had taken over. Dana's blouse and shirt were ruined, so her mother had used the opportunity to make a great fuss at the scrapes. When Scully could take no more of it, she sent Margaret outside into the hallway. Mulder had stationed himself there, pacing and fretting, while the Pomeranian watched, head tilted, woofing softly at the confusion.

"I told Mom to get some rest, that everything was fine." She focused on the screen, where a giant white balloon was bounding after a man in a black suit and sneakers on a beach. "Oh, Mulder, don't watch this. You'll be a basket case for days."

He smirked. "Too late, Scully. It's a marathon; they've just finished 'Once Upon A Time', and this is 'Fall Out.' We can't stop before the end, you know."

She shifted until her scrapes were out of contact with the couch. _Just don't start with the 'Be seeing you' stuff, partner. This show is too much like our lives sometimes._ Scully nodded off while Patrick McGoohan was speaking to an assembly of black and white faces.

Mulder lowered the volume, waiting until she stirred to touch her hand. "Hey, you hungry?"

Murmuring her agreement, she followed him into the kitchen.

-o-0-o-

"Well, Mulder, you were right; I shouldn't have considered this guy." She poked at the remaining piece of broccoli with her fork.

They were seated at the breakfast bar, Mulder munching on a roast beef sandwich, Scully diligently working her way through tossed salad leftover from the dinner she had missed.

She broke a crouton into several fragments with her fork. "Going out with a man who talks to me on the beach. That's not me, and I should know that a guy who would approach me like that would have some other agenda on his mind. Even as kids, Mel was always the attractive one."

Frowning, he dropped the bread on his plate, then ducked down to see her face. "Scully! Enough. You're not ugly, you know, and I wish you'd stop talking about yourself like that. In fact, I had expected half the male population of the Bureau to beat a path to the basement years ago."

She shrugged as Mulder walked over to the refrigerator, carrying his empty glass. He held up the pitcher of lemonade as a question she answered with a nod, so he refilled hers as well.

When he returned, he swiveled on the stool seat to face her. "I'm sorry your Mom has been riding you about finding a guy. Mine dropped a hint or two as well over the past few days, but her problems with Dad kept her from being more insistent, I think."

Spearing a cherry tomato, she stared at the ice cubes swirling in her glass. "Maybe this vacation wasn't such a good idea after all."

Walking around the bar to face her, he lifted her chin with his finger. "I'd never say that. I've spent most of my life alone, and I'm tired of it. When you were taken, I nearly lost my mind. When you almost died in March, I knew I couldn't go on searching on without you searching alongside me. I don't want to go back to being just partners and only seeing you when I'm suffocating in a tie."

As his hand fell to the table, she crinkled her nose. "I like spending time together outside of work. If we were two male agents, no one would give it a second thought. In fact, we could spend weekends fishing together and be congratulated on our bonding efforts. I think it gives us insights into each other's psyches that we can't pick up while sparring over a case, or filling out expense reports. Actually, I'm glad to have had the chance to meet your Mother for real. She is as wonderful a woman as Mom said, and if she were my age right now, ..."

He grinned back. "If Mom were your age, I'd have no trouble hiring her as our next X-Files agent. If Sam has half her guts, she's probably made a good life for herself, wherever she is."

His partner had sobered, remembering their conversation in the car. "But, this business with the D'Amato papers has us almost living together, which may be too much too soon." She looked up at him. "Don't misunderstand me, you're the closest thing I have to a best friend, as 'Valley Girl' as that sounds. There are times when I couldn't sleep if you weren't either on my sofa or a phone call away. However, it's good to have space and time to ourselves."

He shook his head.

She touched his arm. "I know, but you never had three noisy, pesky siblings who wouldn't give you a quiet minute to read or study." Scully shrugged, gripping his wrist to soften her words. "I'm sorry, considering what you've suffered since Sam was taken it probably sounds callous, but Mel used to drive me crazy with all her boyfriend talk when she was in high school."

He stared out the dark windows, wondering how he would have reacted had Sam reached the age when she became infatuated with boys.

"Don't get me wrong, I don't want to go back to just partners, not at all. In fact, I like where we are right now. It's nice to have a friend to spend time with, watching videos or just sitting around, a guy you trust enough that if you fall asleep at his place, you won't wake up to an octopus..."

He held up his hands. "Scully, I'm no saint; I haven't taken a vow or anything."

She smiled at the image of her lanky partner in a tonsure, robe, and sandals. "I'm no nun, Mulder." She watched his eyes sparkle. "But, we know where we stand with each other, right?"

He grinned. "So if somehow I find a woman foolish enough to take a liking to yours truly?"

She shrugged. _Sauce for the goose..._ "I'd give her a thorough physical and background check first. I read through your X-File on Kristen Kilar, you know. And if someone should, for reasons other than revenge for the Shadows, ask out your short, dumpy partner with the odd hair and eyes?"

He sobered. "I'd chaperon. I don't want you to get hurt again, Scully."

Scully lifted one corner of her mouth. _Now we know where we both stand._ She focused on his eyes, clear and still sparkling, casting about in her mind for a way to bring the discussion to a close before it turned too personal. "I think Sam missed out on a great big brother, Mulder."

He studied her face, letting himself reminisce.

She thought she saw the slightest hint of regret before it was replaced by a desire for closure as well.

He leaned over the counter, touching her hand. _I'm always surprised at how much we think alike on some things._ "I guess that nails it, doesn't it? We have a mutually exclusive partnership between two friends who drive each other insane occasionally?"

She shook her head. "I don't know what to say. I couldn't explain us to Susan back in December after the virus, and I can't explain us now."

Checking his watch, his face lit. "Do you realize that in fifteen minutes, the Godzilla marathon is starting? Care to join me?"

They set the dishes in the sink, before walking back to the entertainment room.

She glanced up at him. "Any cockroaches in these?"

"Nope." He tipped his head at her. "Flying turtles though."

"Any sewer-dwelling mutants?"

Mulder held up his hand. "The mutants have an island all to themselves."

"Any fluid-sucking bugs to wrap us in cocoons for later consumption?"

He shook his head. "Only pudgy kids in funny shorts."

"Any secret agents running for their lives?"

"Just Raymond Burr speaking bad Japanese."

"Okay, partner, it's a date." She took his proffered arm. _Besides, I'll be asleep by the first commercial break._

-o-0-o-

"Hey, Scully, wake up, this is the good part!"

She lifted her head to focus on the screen. Balsa wood cars were tumbling, end over end, along the streets of a miniature Tokyo. She rolled her eyes and dropped her head back onto his chest. "Mulder, these go down better with robots."

He grinned. "Yeah, the MST Movie was too short." He waited until she was asleep again before he slid the arm that lay along the back of the sofa over her side to hold her shoulder. _But that's why it's the good part, Scully. It's all happening in there, and we're safe out here._ Mulder grew somber. _For a while longer, anyway._

-o-Finis-o-

Twelfth Night

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Released to ATXC beginning: 5/8/96

Author's Notes: I had several objectives when writing this story. First, I was challenged by a comment on the A.T.X-F forum that Mulder and Scully at Mom Scully's for Thanksgiving wouldn't make an interesting X-File. So, I began planning a story using the Celtic myths and legends surrounding the end of the year, from Samhuinn to Twelfth Night, and there are many good spooky things to fear! My basic references were Robert Graves' "The White Goddess" and James Frazer's "The Golden Bough", should you wish to look something up. I'd read them both years ago (for fun, not for a class or anything), and it was a pleasure revisiting all the tree oghams and king rituals. In fact, as I was writing this, I found myself wrapping more and more Celtic myth directly into the storyline itself, not just the X-File. Then, Mulder's closing statement for "Paperclip": "It's about Fate." started happening automatically. The Feill Fionnain ritual Sam is performing when Mulder has his Grail vision is from "Scottish Witchcraft: The History and Magik of the Picts" by Raymond Buckland. Also, the plot of Shakespeare's "Twelfth Night; Or, What You Will" about a brother and sister separated by misfortune, and the staunch friend who helps the brother find her, fits the Sam storyline so perfectly the whole play could be considered prologue. (Not that this story is anything other than several orders of magnitude out of the Bard's league, BTW.)

Second, I have striven valiantly to finally reunite Caroline and Fox Mulder, and I had to take quite a long detour to do it. I found myself bringing in Phoebe Green, and developing Max's and Caroline's characters extensively. Apologies to any UK readers about Phoebe. I've tried to substitute British English when I was aware of the idioms, but I'm afraid I don't have enough of a command of the various "flavours" of our common tongue to be completely authentic.

Third, I wanted to write yet another story with Mulder and Scully as close friends and colleagues, since that's the way I like'em. I'm sorry friendship has come to be perceived as meaningless or as a phase these days. It used to mean so much more.

Loads of folks to thank, and if I've forgotten anyone, mea culpa and apologies in advance: Sheryl Martin for her kind words on "Xibalba" and encouraging me to write more. Jennifer Lyon also had compliments for me, but her message never made it to my server, so thank you, too. Robert Griffiths suggested Walford for Eric and Phoebe's flat (nod to Eastenders, I was looking for something a starving artist could afford). Fritz Wonnacott made a tape of "Fire" for me, so I could see Phoebe Green in action. Kathryn Atkins made copies of the Trilogy and "Pusher" for me as well, and I think I may have worn the tape out already. I have had many long, enlightening discussions with Antony Ferrucci about religion and life in general. Adina Ringler has lifted my spirits many times with her words of encouragement, as have all those folks who write me to say they like my stories. Finally, I never could have finished a year-ending story when it was 89 degrees outside in April, had it not been for the Windham Hill CDS "A Winter's Solstice" and "A Winter's Solstice II", and many of the CDS of Celtic music on the Maggie's Music label.

As I read through the last section, I realized this was more of a Mulder-centered story than my other two were, but as always, I like to seek a balance between FM & DS, since they are a team. Teamwork was the thing I enjoyed most about the Mulder-Scully interactions of the earlier seasons, but it has been missing for most of the later ones, IMHO.

The episode "Fire" that is Phoebe Green's one and with luck, only, appearance on the X-files is also DD's one and only appearance in a tuxedo. Now, I don't know about you other ladies, but I thought he looked FINE, so I wanted to come up with some excuse to put FM in one here. (I mean fine as in excellent, as in "You look fine, Jack." from the original Batman movie with Keaton and Nicholson.) You didn't think I'd let Phoebe totally off the hook for messing with our G-man's mind, did you?

The bit about Scully feeling strange while dancing with Mulder is not just a dig at the TV Guide photos, but arises from an incident many years ago in my own life. The group I worked in at the time socialized together quite a lot, and after one Section party, several of us went out dancing, including my then boss. As pleasant and helpful a superior as he was, I could never have hoped for, but slow dancing with him felt just plain weird, so I decided to incorporate my reactions into Scully's thinking.

As usual, comments and constructive criticisms are appreciated, and if you just want to write to say you loved it, well, who am I to question such good judgment?

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End file.
